No Time for Mistakes
by thebondgirl
Summary: An arson scene...bullet casings...two kidnapped CSI's...a ransom... The stakes are high, the situation critical, and with the lives of two of their friends on the line, the LasVegas crime scene investigators have no time and no room for mistakesCOMPLETE!
1. A Rough Morning

**Author's Note:** i'm back! okay, the following is a fanfic that i recently finished, based on one of my favorite shows and centred on mytwo favorite characters (it won't be hard to figure out who!lol)

**Warning:** whenever i actually had the time to work on this story, it was usually around 2 - 3:00 in the morning and i was hyped-up on sugar, so needless to say i was a little out of it most of the time during this story and i have a feeling that i might've gone a teensy bit overboard with picking on the main characters, so if you're against that kind of thing i _really_ suggest that you don't read this, or maybe skip to the last few chapters. anyways, that's about it, so if you're gonna be reading it, get reading and enjoy :)

**Chapter 1 – A Rough Morning**

"How much do you wanna bet that this little bridge can hold three of Grissom's bug books?"

Looking up from his crossword, Nick looked it over thoughtfully. Greg had constructed a bridge of drinking straws that extended from one table to the next in the centre of the break room.

"Well, I dunno, it looks pretty rickety." He smiled mischievously. "I bet it caves after two." Greg grinned.

"How much?"

"I'm feeling lucky…why not. Fifty bucks," he said, pulling the bill out of his wallet and placing it on the table.

"You're on." And with that, Greg raced out of the room and came back a moment later with three of Grissom's small encyclopaedias. It was at that moment that Catherine walked in. Seeing that Grissom wasn't with her, he motioned her over.

"Hey Cath, could you give me a hand with something?"

"Sure. What is it?" she asked, eyeing the books suspiciously. "And what has it got to do with Grissom's bug-o-pedias?" Greg smiled innocently.

"They have nobly volunteered to help me become fifty bucks richer." Glancing over at the bridge, then at Nick and his fifty-dollar bill, Catherine started to get the hint. "Now what I need from you is drum roll, if you please."

"I think I'll just watch, thank you," she said with a smirk. He faked a hurt expression.

"Fin. The show must go on." And with that, he carefully placed the first book on the expanse of straws, holding his breath. It held fast. "Not looking too good for you so far." He smiled again and placed the second one next to it on the bridge. It shook slightly but still kept it together. Bowing, he looked over at Nick, a highly pleased look on his face. "I believe that's fifty bucks due from the Texan over there." Grudgingly, Nick stood up and walked over, holding the bill out to Greg who snatched it smugly. "Lady and gentleman, thank you for your time. Now get out of here, and drive safely."

"Actually, stay right where you are. I have something to say too." Wincing, Greg slowly turned to see Grissom standing in the doorway holding a few sheets of fax paper and looking steadily at him, the book he held, and the two books balanced on the straw bridge behind him. Sara, who had come in with him, was struggling and failing to hide her smile without Grissom noticing her. Ushering her in in front of him, he chose not to comment immediately on the abduction of his books, and instead got right to the point.

"Okay, here's the deal: an arson call just came in, but all of us except Greg have been scheduled for a board working status review. Now it's nothing to be worried about, just something they started up last year to check in on us every now and then to see whether or not we're doing our job to the best of our abilities and such," he said, handing Warrick, Nick, Sara, and Catherine faxed memo sheets. "We're scheduled one after the other, me first, and each review takes about half-an-hour, but in my opinion we should all head over there together just in case traffic thickens up later on; we wouldn't want to give off the kind of impression that being late for a performance review can give," he said, smiling slightly.

"Wait a minute, why am I the only one without a review?" asked Greg.

"Well, the review is set up for second year and up CSI's because first years like yourself are given their first year to adjust and find your niche, so to speak, before they evaluate you," Grissom stated matter-of-factly, handing the indignant first year a different sheet. "While we're at the review, your job is to start processing the arson scene until Warrick can get back to give you a hand."

"Hey Griss?"

"Yes Nick?" Nick held up his page.

"I'm last in line, right? At 12:00 p.m.?" Grissom looked at his own.

"It looks that way."

"Then why don't I head over with him and help him until 10:00, then drive over to meet you guys at the review? And by the time I get there, Warrick will be done and can pick up where I left off with Greg." Considering it for a moment, Grissom nodded.

"Sure. You two can head over there now. Everyone else, if you have a car, get to it, and if you don't hitch a ride with someone else 'cause we're out of here."

By the time Greg and Nick pulled up in their separate cars, it was 9:00 a.m. Traffic had been unbelievably thick for a Friday morning and as they both got out of their cars and headed for the small house in front of them, Greg could hear Nick grumbling angrily under his breath about having to leave in ten minutes anyway so that he would have a chance of making it downtown in time. Dodging around the few cops, they went inside.

They had been in the house for only five minutes or so, Greg taking pictures and Nick collecting wood samples, when Nick stopped, picking something small up off the ash and debris covered floor with a gloved hand.

"Hey Greg, come here a second. I found something." Walking over to where Nick was standing in what use to be the living room, Greg looked carefully at what Nick was holding up in the beam of his flashlight.

"Is that…?"

"Yeah, this is a bullet casing."

"Looks like this is a little more than just a simple arson." Nick looked down at his watch.

"Well, Grissom's review has been over for a while. I'll call him and let him know," he said, pulling out his cell phone while Greg replaced the casing where it had been found and snapped a few pictures. "Hm, looks like I'm not getting a signal. Is your phone working?" Flipping out his cell, Greg shook his head after a few minutes of fiddling.

"Nadda." Nick glanced down at his watch again.

"Well, I'll be a little early but I'll head over to the review building now and catch Grissom before he leaves about this little chunk of evidence," he said, carefully placing the casing in an evidence bag.

"Okay. Well when you get there, remind Warrick to head over."

"Will do." And with that, Nick left the building and headed for his car while Greg kept working. However, it had only been a minute or so before he came back in, shaking his head angrily. "Damn car. I've been holding off taking it to the shop and now it's completely fried. Can I take your car?"

"No way am I letting you drive away in the love of my life!" Greg replied emphatically. "I'll take a break and drive you to your review myself," he said, replacing his tools in his kit and taking off his plastic gloves before grabbing the evidence bag in one hand and his car keys in the other and following Nick out the door. Chuckling to himself, Nick waited for Greg to unlock the passenger-side door, and was about to jump in when he paused.

"Did you notice that all the cops are gone?" he asked warily. Greg stared out his windshield.

"Huh, not until you mentioned it. They must've gone out to coffee while we were inside." Nick looked doubtful.

"They should be here guarding the perimeter."

"Hey, take it easy Nick. This lot has been abandoned and avoided since forever. There's nobody here for them to keep out. Now get in the car so that I can get you outta here and get back to work." Finally relenting, Nick climbed in the car and shut the door, reaching for his seatbelt. Looking over at Greg to make further argument, he froze as a plastic bag was quickly pulled down over his friend's head, unable to react before a bag came down over and past his eyes and finally cut off his air.


	2. Bad News

**Author's Note:** hello again! i have decided that, in honour of the snow day/day off schoolgoing on in Sudbury (where i live) today, i will post the next chapter a day ahead of schedule :) read, review, and enjoy:):)

**Chapter 2 – Bad News**

Grissom was sitting back in his chair tiredly as he waited outside the review room with Sara and Catherine for Warrick – having given him a ride there, Grissom had to wait until he was done so that he could give him a ride over to the arson call where Greg and Nick were starting to process the scene.

Grissom glanced down at his watch; it was 9:30 a.m.; Warrick was due out any time and Nick was due to arrive.

At that second, two things happened: Warrick finally emerged back out into the hall, a pleased smile on his face, and Grissom's cell began to ring loudly. Shushing the others when they started to question their newly evaluated co-worker, he answered the call.

"Grissom."

"Hey Gil, you and your crew better get down here." The voice on the other line belonged to Brass, who sounded more than a little on edge. "We've got a car arson on our hands."

"Sorry Brass, but today's our review day, and right now only me and Warrick are in the clear; Nick, Sara, and Catherine are still waiting to go in."

"Is Nick there with you?" Now he wounded oddly hopeful.

"No, but he was helping Greg out for a little while at a house arson just outside of town, and then he's going to be driving over. Why?" He heard Brass sigh and he frowned as he waited for an explanation.

"Like I said before, you and your crew, which includes Cath and Sara, better get down her and you better step on it; we've got a body and a possible kidnap."

"Brass, I told you they had review today and that –"

"I've already called the Board of Reviews and explained the circumstances and they've rescheduled the remaining reviews for next week." Grissom's frown deepened.

"What circumstances?" There was a long pause at the other end as Brass tried to think of the best way to work up to the grim news he had to break.

"What was the address of that house arson?" he asked suddenly.

"If memory serves, it was 42 Gilmore Drive. Why do you ask?" Another sigh, this one sounding more tired and regretful.

"The address of the car arson is 42 Gilmore Drive, Gil; the licence plate on the burning car belong to Greg Sanders, and the abandoned car across from it: Nick Stokes.

* * *

They were in the back of what was probably a seat-less cargo van and were on the move; that was all that Nick could come up with from his vantage point: blindfolded, with his hands duck-taped behind his back, tape over his mouth, and joints already plenty sore from sliding around the van's floor and hitting its walls every time they hit a bump in the road or turned a corner. He didn't remember being shoved in here , so best he could figure was he had passed out from lack of oxygen when the bag was put over his head – his theory proved right when the fuzziness and lightness feeling in his head kept him from being able to sit up. 

Pulling his legs back between his arms so that his tapped wrists were in front of him, he pulled the tape off his eyes and his mouth with a quiet hiss at the sting, waiting impatiently for his eyes to adjust to the darkness as he tried to look around him for Greg. When he could finally see, he spotted the outline of an unmoving form curled up in the far back corner of the van, and he started to crawl towards it, as quietly as possible so as not to alert the driver to his consciousness.

"Greg," he whispered as he finally reached his side. Carefully, he pulled the tape off Greg's mouth and eyes. When the younger CSI still didn't open his eyes or make any movement, Nick reached a slightly shaking hand forward, searching for a pulse on his neck. At that moment, Greg's brow furrowed, and he frowned slightly with a quiet grunt.

"Cold fingers," he mumbled, slowly opening his eyes to looked up at him. Nick couldn't help but smile slightly, at the joke and in relief that he wasn't going to be stuck in this mess alone.

"It's not my fault that this tape's cut off the blood-flow to my hands. So, how're 'ya feeling?"

"Really light-headed," Greg answered, trying but failing to sit up. Placing his hands on his shoulder, Nick kept him from trying again.

"Easy now. Same thing happened to me when I came round. It's because we both passed out when those guys stuck bags over our heads. It'll pass in a minute."

"So, where do you think we are?" he asked when his dizziness had passed and Nick had helped him to sit beside him up against the wall.

"As far as I can tell we're in a moving van on a road outside the city, 'cause we keep hitting some damn big potholes." Greg laughed half-heartedly before falling into a scared silence once more.

"How long do you think it'll be 'till Grissom and the others find out we're gone?" he whispered, his voice more quiet than Nick had warned him that it had to be. Nick could tell that what his friend needed right now was reassurance from someone who had already been in a situation like this before, so he decided to be a little less than completely honest. He glanced down at where his wristwatch should have been, figuring that one of their captors must have taken it.

"Well, Warrick's done by now, and so Griss is gonna try to call my cell to remind me to get downtown so that Warrick can take over, and obviously the guys that tooks us have my cell or destroyed it, same for yours, so when he can't reach us, he'll want to know where we are and will start at the arson scene where he'll find two cars with no people in 'em. In short, it won't take him long at all to have the entire LVP station working on finding us. So just take it easy, and don't get too worried; we'll be outta here and submitting a report to Ecklie and a statement to Brass by the day's end," he said, trying but failing to sound confident, cheerful even, for Greg's sake. Even so, Greg accepted what Nick had said for what it was and smiled appreciatively, though Nick couldn't see it.

"I hope you're right Nick," he whispered with a deep sigh. Nick nodded in agreement.

He hoped he was right too.

* * *

**A/N:** chapter 2 may have been a little short, but chapter 3 is a long one, so the faster you review, the faster i can get up the next big chunk of the story (hinthint) who knows, maybe i'll post it today as well - maybe... please review:) 


	3. Not As It Seems

**A/N:** okay, here's chapter three, longer than the previous two as promised - read, enjoy, and review:):)

**Disclaimer:** i could not remember the name of the older doctor that always does their autopsies so i had to settle for dr. grey - i hope the die hard csi fans can forgive me just this once:)

**Chapter 3 – Not As It Seems**

Having gone an ashen colour and barely managed to catch his phone when it slipped from suddenly slack fingers, Grissom had had no choice but to explain the news to the other three: that it was possible that Greg had been killed and Nick taken. But now, as he watched them sullenly and worriedly process the smouldering vehicle and the other abandoned one, he wished that he could've withheld it somehow until they were finished here and didn't need to stay focussed and professional. They had long since examined and extracted the body thought to be Greg from his car, unable to be sure if it was in fact him because of the damage done by the flames. It had taken all of Sara's willpower to keep herself from throwing up at the thought that that might be Greg, or even Nick.

"Hey, I think I got something over here!" called Warrick from the passenger's side as he extracted a mostly black evidence back from the practically melted glove compartment. Sara and Catherine, who had been working on Nick's car, quickly jogged over, followed closely by Grissom who had been talking to one of the cops who had been first on the scene. With gloved hands, Warrick held up a slightly blackened bullet casing.

"A bullet casing at an arson scene?" Grissom asked no one in particular, looking over at the house. _What happened here? What did you two get yourselves into?_ He shook his head, forcing himself to stay focussed and in charge. "Okay, Sara, Cath, go into the house and see if there are any more of these in there, and if you find any or not, get this one and them back to the lab and into trace. Warrick, finish processing the cars and have them towed back to our garage to see if you can find anything with Nick's car, and see if you can find what caused the fire in Greg's car and where it originated from. I'm going with the body to the coroner's to get an I.D. on him. We meet back in the break room in four hours, so lets get cracking."

* * *

It was 11:00 a.m. by the time Grissom followed the stretcher that was carrying one of his people into the autopsy room where the good doctor was waiting. When he addressed Grissom, his voice was filled with regret and due solemnity. 

"I'm very sorry to hear about your guys, Gil," he said as the stretcher was stopped beside him.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. What I need to know though is which of my guys this is, Nick or Greg, because we've only got one body and the other is missing, hopefully alive," he said quietly, trying to focus everywhere except the charred remains on the table in front of him. His friend nodded his head.

"I understand. We'll get started right away." When dental impressions had been taken and sent away to be processed, the doctor began the atypical autopsy, though the cause of death was obvious enough – or so it seemed.

"Um, Gil?"

"What is it?"

"Your guy didn't die because of the fire," he said, reaching behind him for his tweezers but keeping his eyes focussed on a spot on the D.B.'s chest.

"What?" Grissom watched as he carefully extracted three pieces of metal, placing them each in a metal tray that he handed over to him for inspection. "There was a bullet almost rightthrough his heart and one in each lung; wounds like these would've killed him in less than a minute." He was about to continued when David brought back the results for the dental impressions. Scanning his eyes down the page, his eyebrows raised as he looked back up at Grissom, his expression both surprised and relieved. "Not only was this man shot before that fire even started, but his imprints aren't a match for Nick or Greg's; it's some guy, Sean Denmark – place of residence: 42 Gilmore Drive – currently unemployed."

"So both of my guys have been kidnapped," Grissom stated, still in shock.

"Hey, it beats being dead." At this he looked up at Grey.

"Excellent point doctor. Thank you for your help." And with that he raced out of the morgue, headed for trace with three bullets prime for testing.

* * *

The van stopped, sending both men tumbling from where they sat. They could hear the doors up front open and slam shut again, then several voices outside the walls before the back doors were suddenly open and two captors reached in and dragged them out so that they fell to the ground, winded, still blinded by the sudden light and stiff from the long ride. Tape was immediately replaced on their eyes as one man spoke beside them. 

"Hey, why are there two of 'em? They can't both be Greg Sanders." The voice that answered was higher, a woman's.

"Well, that other guy got in our guy's car with him, so we didn't really have a choice," she said indignantly.

"Yeah you had a choice! You could've put a bullet in his head and left him in the damn car!" A third voice chimed in at this point.

"We figured we could get double this way. I mean, he's obviously his friend, so we could get a little something for him too," he said matter-of-factly. A sharp slap and a cry were heard and the one against the extra baggage spoke again.

"You idiot! Now there's only going to be one body at the scene and one of their buddies missing, which means we'll have less time before they come looking for this one!" he yelled, and kicked Greg angrily in his ribs. Greg screamed in pain as snaps were heard, and without thinking, Nick threw himself with a cry at what he hoped was the guy that had just kicked his friend. His guess was proved right when he hit a set of legs and the voice of the one he had been aiming for cried out in alarm as he hit the ground, Nick coming close enough to punch him in the stomach a few times with his bound hands.

His attack was short-lived however, and he was quickly pulled away as the man he had hit kicked him hard in his stomach, pulling him up by his shirt as he automatically doubled-up to hit him hard across the face before the cocking of a gun was heard and its cold barrel was pressed up against Nick's forehead.

"If you kill him, you won't get a dime," gasped Greg, his breaths short and painful as he spoke. "I'll make sure that they don't meet whatever demands you have, but only make a deal for you to release me and avoid going to prison for the rest of your lives." He said the last part with a wheezing chuckle and a smirk. "I promise you that." Nick, though confused, said not a word as the gun was pulled away from his head and the man spoke again while the tape on their wrists were replaced with handcuffs.

"Alright, the gun's away, but make sure your friend understands that if he pulls another stunt like that, I won't kill him at first, but I'll personally see to it that he never walks again." And with that the two C.S.I's were dragged across the ground, up a small set of stairs and into the living room of what was probably a small house where a trapdoor in the ceiling was opened and they were made to climb the ladder into the attic. Once they heard the door close, they wasted no time in removing the tape from their eyes once more. This done, Nick crawled over beside Greg where he lay on the floor, unable to take in a deep breath, his eyes shinning with tears of pain.

"How're you holding up?" he asked worriedly. In his mind, he wished vehemently that he could've gotten in a few more good hits on the guy responsible for all this.

"I – I think he broke some… ribs," he finally managed to say, cringing in pain as he sat up on his elbows and carefully lifted the hem of his T-shirt. It was Nick's turn to cringe at the sight of the already purple and black splotch's that showed the breaks. "How's it look?" asked Greg, not wanting to see it for himself. Nick swallowed before answering.

"Not too bad, Greg, not too bad at all," he whispered.

"That ugly, huh?" Greg laughed quietly, lowering his shirt and laying back down. He looked up at Nick now, concern showing through his pained expression. "What abut you? Are you okay?" he asked, indicating his bleeding nose and the boot print on his shirt. Nick shrugged it off.

"I'm fine. It's nothing," he said easily with a small smile. Greg looked more than a little doubtful, but Nick didn't give him the chance to point out otherwise. Looking around the large attic, he spotted a small but comfortable looking pillow sticking out of a box and as quietly as possible, he reached over and pulled it out.

"Here we go. Lift your head buddy," he said, and placed it under Greg's head before sitting down beside him. Greg smiled gratefully.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"No problem." In the silence that followed, they could clearly hear a T-V bellow them, the loud voice of an irritating game show host ringing out and filling their ears with promises of thousands of dollars, a car, and a dream vacation.

'_Right now, I'd settle for a set of handcuff keys, a gun, and a cell phone,'_ Nick thought wistfully to himself. Greg interrupted his thoughts, his tone causing Nick's worry to grow a little more, leaving him wishing he could somehow ease the pain, though he knew there was nothing he could do - he hated feeling this useless when one of his closest friends was like this.

"Shouldn't we be looking for a way out of here or at least some sort of weapon?" he wheezed, readjusting his head on the pillow with a grimace. Nick nodded with a slight smile; nothing could keep Greg Sanders from thinking objectively.

"Yeah, you're right, but I think it should be just me," he said as he gently pushed Greg back down. "After all, I can move a lot faster and easier with a bloody nose and a bit of a bruise than you can with a few broken ribs. Agreed?" Though he seemed about to object, a fresh stab of pain set his mind straight and he nodded carefully.

"Agreed." Nick gently squeezed his friend's shoulder for reassurance and, with great difficulty due to the cuffs and a fruitless attempt at silence, he stood up and walked around, searching through the few boxes but finding nothing of real use. It was then that he made his way over to the window, which, to Nick's disappointment, was much too small for either of them to fit through. However, he was amazed to find that not only was the window unlocked, but the building they were in was surrounded by a maze of warehouses and other shacks, meaning that if he could maybe find something to write on and write with, maybe he could throw a message down that might be picked up by a shipyard worker that might just walk by and –

His planning was interrupted when a sudden sharp and searing pain erupted in a straight line up the front of his left arm before tearing through all along the edge of his ear. With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor, right hand clasped around only a part of his injured arm, unpleasantly aware of the blood flowing from it and his ear. From his place on the floor, he could see now the small bullet hole right beside where he had been standing and looked up to see the bullet lodged into the ceiling.

"You still alive Tex?" asked a voice just bellow the hole. Nick didn't answer at first and another bullet burst through the floor, narrowly missing him before joining its compadre in the ceiling. "I asked, are you still alive?" Not wanting to be shot at again, he finally choked out an answer.

"Yes!" he gasped. He heard the other two laughing and then a chuckle beneath him.

"That's good, 'cause there's still about another half-an-hour before we send in a ransom notice, so don't go dying on us just yet." And with that, footsteps were heard traveling back over to the couch, followed closely by the loud creaking of its old springs. Having focused all of his attention on trying to ignore the growing pain, Nick didn't even notice that Greg had crawled over to him until he felt hands on his shoulders turning him over onto his back, and he heard Greg's whispering voice, his anxiousness obvious.

"Nick! Nick!" Nick opened his eyes and saw his friend's worried face leaning over him. "How bad are you hurt?" Greg's eyes only grew wider as he looked the injuries up and down, forcing down his fear as his gaze moved to his friend's face, that was contorted in a painful grimace.

"The bullet grazed my arm and my ear," he answered, trying to keep his breathing calm and steady.

"We need to see how bad it is," Greg said, reaching towards Nick's heavily bleeding arm. As the bullet had torn a ragged gash through his shirt's sleeve as well, virtually from wrist to shoulder, he had not trouble tearing it open the rest of the way, paleing when he did: the gash, which was on the front of his arm, did in fact run almost its entire length and though it was slightly overcast in their cell, he could still see its nastiness and grimaced lightly, this time not because of his own injuries. He tried not to think about the amount of blood that was being and would be lost, forcing himself to look optimistic, unworried. "It could be worse," he said reassuringly, glancing over at his ear as he spoke. "And your ear's seen better days but it'll live." He gaze a small laugh, a weak back up to his obvious fibs. At the moment he was becoming less and less optimistic, wondering just how much would be thrown at them before it became too much.

"I guess this means that after we get out of here, we have a visit to the hospital for bad food and cute nurses to look forward to," said Nick through gritted teeth, smirking slightly. This made Greg smile; in all this, he was still the same old Nick, trying to make light of a bad situation with well placed light-heartedness. Greg couldn't help but marvel at it.

With a deep breath he returned his attention back to the problem at hand.

"Okay, well for the ear," he said, reaching for Nick's torn sleeve, "we can use a piece of this fine material, and for the arm, we'll use the rest." Tearing off a piece of fabric, Greg was about to press it up against his friend's ear when the trapdoor burst open and their three captors, wearing black ski masks, ascended the ladder and strode across the attic to where their captives sat staring fearfully up at them.

Nick immediately, if not a little slowly, positioned himself in front of Greg, knowing full well he was in reality virtually helpless to protect him, though that wouldn't stop him from trying. Greg stared anxiously from the gun-wielding kidnappers in front of them to Nick whose shaking hands clashed with his determined and set expression; he only hoped that his friend knew as well as he did that any resitance would be pointless and more than likely painful, mainly for Nick.With a snap of his fingers, the leader, and presumably the one who had shot Nick, set the woman and the other man to dragging the two of them to their feet. Nick struggled weakly but to no avail, while Greg could only cry out in agony at the grinding together of his broken bones.

"Ransom time," the leader said cheerfully as he accomplices brought them away from the window to the far wall where they were made to kneel. Looking from one to the other, the man's eyes settled on Nick's ear and exposed arm. The lips visible through the mouth hole in his mask formed an unpleasant smile. "I'd like to say I'm sorry about that, but I'd be lying. We can hear every step you make from down there."

"I thought you said there was another half-an-hour until the ransom," said Nick quietly but defiantly, as the jostling of Greg's broken ribs had rendered him incapable of anything more than a quiet whimper through his silent tears.

"I got a call and changed my mind," the leader said simply, stepping closer and reaching towards Nick.

Instinctively he jerked away and was rewarded with a smack upside the head.

"Take it easy Tex, I just want to make sure that it's a little more visible." He smirked and tore the sleeve a little more so that it remained open before backing up and allowing the woman to step in and, for the third time that day, smooth a piece of duck-tape over their mouths. At the same time, the other one was setting up a laptop on a box to their left before taking out and turning on a camcorder, running a cord from it to the computer, and returning to stand in front of them as he pressed the button labelled 'Record'.

* * *

By the time Grissom had gotten the bullets processed, gotten their results and arrived in the break room, the rest of the team had already assembled, all three visibly still shaken and distraught about the death of the man they all thought to be Greg. 

'_I really think I should clear that up first,'_ he thought as their strained gazes turned on him. He cleared his throat.

"Well, I have some good news, and some bad news," he began, taking a seat at the table. "The good news is that not only was the body we brought back shot before the fire with bullets we have now traced to its gun, but dental impressions indicate that the body is neither Greg nor Nick's, but the owner of the house that was burned down, a Sean Denmark." At this, the three CSI's looked first shocked, like he had been, but their shock quickly turned into sighs and smiles of tired relief. Grissom almost didn't want to continue. "The bad news, I'm afraid, is that this means that both Nick _and_ Greg are possibly in the hands of Frank Muller, convicted murderer, and unknown number of accomplices, if any." At this point, they weren't sure if they should laugh or cry. Grissom decided distraction was best. "Okay, so, what did the rest of you come up with?" Shifting in her seat, Sara started, trying to hide the wavering in her voice that betrayed her emotions.

"Well, Catherine and I did find two more bullet casings at the scene and we brought them plus the one from Greg's car to trace and found they were from the gun of Frank Muller." She paused before speaking again. "We-We also found Greg's kit inside the house," she said, picking it up off the floor and placing it on the table. For a long moment they simply stared at it, remembering how excited and proud Greg, and each of them for that matter, had been when he had gotten it, taking it everywhere with him like a security blanket for the first week.

Grissom was relieved when his phone ran, partly breaking the tension and giving him an excuse to look away from the lonely-looking kit to the caller I-D: it was Brass. Eager to hear any developments in the case, he immediately answered it and the others, knowing the context of any call to Grissom, sat in silence to listen.

"Grissom here."

"Gil." Brass' voice was strained and anxious. That could only mean one thing: something had happened, and it wasn't good.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Grissom demanded, now extremely nervous. He could tell that the other three were holding their breath in fear and anticipation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sanders just called me. They just opened an e-mail consisting a ransom video." Grissom's free hand rested over his eyes and he slumped forward in his chair. "I've copied it onto a disk and have collected the Sanders' computer tower. I'll be over there in a few minutes," he said hurriedly. Grissom could hear his siren blaring in the background to signal he was in his car and going as fast as he could.

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you when you get here," he responded quietly, sighing, and then hung up, finally looking up at the others who stared back, unsure if they wanted to hear this latest development by the look on his face. "Mr. and Mrs. Sanders have just received a ransom video through e-mail." All three reacted much the same as he had and he sighed again, deeper this time, and at that moment he looked every day his age, new lines having just appeared around his eyes over the course of a few hours. "Brass'll be here soon with their tower and a copy of the video. Let's go wait for him in the lab."

Silently all four stood and slowly filed out of the room, Sara returning a moment later, walking up to the table and carefully picking up Greg's kit before leaving once more for the lab, hugging it tightly to herself.

* * *

**A/N:** i hope you enjoyed it! stay tuned for the next chapter, and one of my personal favorites... the ransom:) please review 


	4. Ransom

**A/N:** hello peoples! welcome to chapter 4 of my story! thanks a ton to everyone who has reviewed so far; i love checking my email and seeing the subject 'review alert' - one of the best feelings there is! reading them has been a blast, so i hope to see plenty more after this one - read, review, and enjoy:):)

**Chapter 4 – Ransom**

True to his word, Brass arrived at the lab a few minutes after his call carrying the tower in his arms, a C-D case perched on top. Once the tower had been given to Archie to try and trace the e-mail, the group huddled around another computer, Brass brining over the disk.

"Brace yourselves," he said quietly as he handed the disk to Warrick. "I've already seen it, and it's not pretty." The disk was uploaded and the screen came to life. Brass hadn't been lying. Sara was the only one that found the voice to speak, whispering through the fingers of her hand, which had covered her mouth.

"Oh my God."

The scene opened with the camera trained on Greg whose eyes and contorted face displayed the pain he was in, along with the sound of his shallow breaths and the sweat dripping off of his brow. After a few seconds, the camera zoomed out slightly to that they could see a man dressed in black with a ski mask covering his face standing next to the kneeling CSI.

"Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Sanders. You don't know who I am, but for future purposes, you can call me Forman. Now let's get down to business. As you have noticed, I have your son Greg here with me and he is alive, but a little on the sore side," he said, and with that took the machine gun he was holding and jabbed Greg in his ribs with the force of a light punch. Much to their surprise and anxiousness, a scream of agony resonated from behind the tape over his mouth and his eyes squeezed shut as he nearly keeled over, though Forman prevented that from happening by grabbing a fistful of his hair and holding him up straight. Using the barrel of the gun, he lifted the hem of Greg's T-shirt, causing both Sara and Catherine to wince openly at the sight of the black-purple colour of one side of his ribcage. "Now I'm no doctor, but I'd have to say those look like breaks, and pretty bad ones too." With this, he released Greg's hair and shirt so that he sagged, nearly falling over, as he tried to slow his rapid breathing that did nothing for the pain that he was trying to ignore.

Sara hugged the kit she still held even harder as though hoping that some of the comfort might travel through Greg's kit into him. _Hang in there Greg, please, hold on._

"So here's the deal: the wiring of $20 million to the Swiss bank account number 4826323 will buy you back your boy Greg. However, for only $1 million more –" The camera suddenly shifted to the right and the two women gasped, Grissom's face paleing even further as Warrick's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "–I'll throw in the unfortunate friend who was in the wrong car at the wrong time." Nick was a disaster; blood pored from his torn left ear, from an enormous gash all along the front of his left arm, and from his nose, flowing down over the duck tape that covered his mouth. His face was gaunt and pale, no doubt from blood-loss, but despite this and his seeming to have trouble staying upright, anger and defiance radiated from his pained eyes, clearly indicating that despite his injuries, he would gladly take out his captors, if given the opportunity and the means, of which he had neither.

Trembling slightly, Sara hugged the kit tighter still, if it were possible, willing her comfort to apply to Nick as well. "So unless you want to get them both back in pieces, I suggest you comply. Wouldn't you agree Greg?" He jabbed Greg's ribs again, even harder than before, and once more he screamed but this time was unable to hold himself up and crumpled to the floor, curling up into a ball as tears started to pour down his face. Her hand clamped tightly over her mouth, tears stung Sara's eyes and she suddenly felt hands on her shoulders and heard Warrick's voice whispering comfort. Looking beside her, she found Grissom was doing the same for Catherine who was reacting much the same way, though Grissom himself looked like he was going to be sick.

On screen, they heard muffled shouts and the camera zoomed out so that they could also see that another masked captor was holding Nick back as he strained and yelled, glowering at Forman.

"What's wrong Tex? Would you like to add something?" Forman asked tauntingly, grabbing him by his hair and yanking back the tape. Wincing briefly, Nick looked up at the man, speaking in a strained but surprisingly threatening voice.

"Don't you dare touch him again." Forman laughed.

"You're really attached to this kid, aren't you?" he asked, glancing over at Greg who still hadn't been able to pull himself up. "So, what would you do if I did _this_?" He brought one foot down hard on one of Greg's handcuffed hands so that he cried out again.

Moving too quickly for the one restraining him to act, Nick lunged and pulled Forman's legs out from under him before using his cuffed hands to start punching him everywhere and anywhere, letting his adrenaline and anger take over in the explosion, at this point not caring what happened in consequence. Unfortunately, he was too weak for his hits to do any damage and so all Forman had to do was roll to the side and swing his foot back, nailing Nick in his side to subduethe attackbefore reaching forward and gripping his left arm so that his fingers dug into his open woundso that he screamed. Tears of pain rolled down his face as he finally collapsed down beside Greg who was looking over at him, his eyes wide, pleading, desperately shaking his head.

"You're not worth the million," Forman hissed, staggering to his feet, retrieving a handgun from his pocket and cocking it before pressing its barrel up against Nick's head. They watched, horrified, as Forman started to pull the trigger, but at the last second, Greg used all the strength he could muster and threw himself sideways into Forman's arm, knocking it to the side, so that he was in front of Nick and the bullet embedded itself in the wall behind him. Sara could not help the small whimper that escaped her lips as Greg was backhanded, then the tape on his mouth yanked back. "Is there something you'd like to say to me!" he yelled in his face, now holding the gun to his head instead. Though he was still shaking from the pain in his damaged ribs, Greg's eyes never left Forman's.

"Don't kill him," he pleaded weakly. "I promise, you'll get your million, just please, don't." His voice was barely audible and his breathing painfully quick. Everyone in the room, except for Brass, released the breath they hadn't known they were holding as Forman slowly lowered the gun and looked back up at the camera.

"You hear that mom and dad? I hope for your son's friend's sake that you're generous." He stood up. "And since I know that this'll be seen by the cops and no doubt by their CSI buddies too, I'll leave a message for them while I'm at it: I suggest that you strongly advise the Sanders to pay up, because if they do, and my guys confirm the transfer, then you'll receive notification of a drop-off point to pick these two up without any further trouble. If they don't…" He turned back to the CSI's and brought the butt of his gun down on the side of Greg's head and above Nick's left eye, leaving both unconscious on the floor. "…I will not hesitate to kill them both," he said, and the camera zoomed in on his face. "I'm ready when you are."

And the screen went black.

Sara's legs suddenly could not hold her up any longer, and she fell to her knees and from there to the floor. Warrick knelt down beside her.

"Are you going to be alright?" She looked over at him, tears stinging her usually nonchalant eyes.

"I will be when we get them back alive," she said quietly, and for the first time Warrick noticed that she was holding onto Greg's kit as though her life depended on it.

"How are his parents?" asked Grissom, a tremor passing through his voice as he failed to shut out of his mind the image of Greg and Nick, bleeding and unconscious on the dusty floor of wherever they were being held.

"Mrs. Sanders had to be sedated when I got there and Mr. Sanders is more than willing and ready to wire $21 million to the account." Warrick looked up at him.

"How rich _are_ his parents?"

"I didn't even know until today, but they're somewhere in the billions, from oil or something," responded Brass. Catherine was still staring at the screen, watching the video over and over in her mind's eye.

"So Greg was their target; Nick was just collateral damage," she whispered. Warrick spoke up, if only for the need to foccus on the case aspect of this whole nightmare so that he could keep himself from thinking of just how bad off their two friends were.

"I had Nick's car towed in with Greg's and I found that his car wouldn't start because of old damage build up, so best I can figure is that Greg offered to drive him to the review and the guys were probably waiting in the back seat and figured that they might as well take both of them." He paused, trying to maintain his calm in order to remember and recite his findings. "Also, I found a cell-signal jamming devise just outside the house, explaining why Nick didn't call a toe-truck first. And as for the car fire, it was a simple gasoline blaze, originating from the front seats," he finished, dropping into a seat by the computer. Grissom was mid-way through another sigh when he suddenly straightened.

"Brass, did you get a statement from the officers working perimeter?" Brass nodded.

"Yeah, they were not at the scene during the abduction. When they got back, the car was on fire and they radioed it in."

"But why did they leave in the first place?"

"According to them, another black and white drove up and offered to relieve them for an hour or so."

"Who was it that relieved them?"

"We don't know. The name he gave them was a fake and none of them seem to be able to remember a licence plate or unit number."

"Did the officers talk to a department sketch artist?" Again Brass nodded.

"This is what she came up with," he said, handing him a drawing. "We ran it through law enforcement data-base; no hits." Frowning thoughtfully, Grissom stood and walked over to the scanner, uploading the sketch onto the screen before adjusting the search settings and hitting 'Search'. They were all surprised to hear the beep indicating that a match had been found after only about ten seconds. Looking over at them, he smiled.

"_Ex_-cops are on a different system."

* * *

It had been almost an hour since the ransom taping and around half-an-hour since they had both regained consciousness, Greg being the first to come to. 

(Flashback)

_When Greg opened his eyes, he momentarily forgot where he was and so lay there, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why he hurt so much. Slowly sitting up, he glanced beside him, what he saw making his heart all but stop and the memories come rushing back: the kidnapping…the van…broken ribs…attic…the ransom video…Nick – his arm, his ear…he was hurt…he tried to protect him but it only made it worse…Oh God, Nick…_

_He crawled over to him where he lay unmoving, his eyes closed under the nasty bruise that had formed above his left eye. And yet despite his fears, he seemed to be breathing, but his own breaths hitched in his throat non-the less._

"_Nick! Nick!" He shook him lightly. Nick's hand moved and he moaned, not opening his eyes._

"_I'm so cold," he whispered to nothing, and Greg noticed that his hands had started to shake – Nick was going into shock. He had to push aside his growing panic to keep the tremor out of his voice as he responded._

"_Well, you've lost a lot of blood, so that's to be expected," he said as calm and lightly as possible, and scanned the floor for the small piece of Nick's sleeve that he had dropped earlier, picking it up and pressing it to Nick's ear. "Okay, Nick I need you to hold this here with your left shoulder and apply some pressure to stop the bleeding. Can you do that for me?" Nick nodded and did as instructed. Satisfied, Greg proceeded to tear the rest of the left sleeve off at the shoulder before tearing small slits on either side all the way down before folding it in half and placing I over the gash on the front of Nick's arm so that he could tie the opposing strips together at the back of his arm, tight enough so that he wouldn't have to hold it there. His task done, he sat back as Nick now used his hands to hold the cloth to his ear for a minute or two, and was silent for a moment before looking back at Nick, whose eyes had opened slightly, and speaking._

"_Thanks Nick, for doing…what you did. You didn't have to, especially since all it did was almost get you killed." He couldn't help the guilt he felt from his friend's current state that filled his concience, and his eyes fell to the floor, the same thought running over and over through his mind:if he had only been able to look after himself better, Nick wouldn't be this way._

_Nick looked up at him sharply, but Greg refused to meet his gaze. He couldn't believe what he was hearing and in that tone - the tone thatwas dripping with guilt that shouldn't be there. He shook his head - Greg was one of his closest friends, practically a little brother to him, just the thought of someone hurting him..._

"_Hey," Nick said, his voice stronger and firmer so that Greg looked up at him. He could see the anger in the Texan's eyes but was surprised to hear the empathy in his voice. "You're wrong, I did have to; as a senior to a rookie, it's my responsibility to look after you. And as your friend, there was no way I could just sit there and let that happen without doing something about it." He managed a weak smile that slowly evaporated back into seriousness. "Greg, as long as we're still here and those guys downstairs are still breathing, I won't let anything happen to you, no matter what – we're going to make it out of this. I promise."_

(End of Flashback)

At present, both had chosen to remain lying on their backs on the floor, Greg's head resting on the pillow after much arguing and persuasion from Nick,whose hands had stopped shaking a little, that Greg needed it more. And though he believed otherwise, Greg didn't object to the extra, or rather _only_ comfort. It was then that Nick remembered the question that he had meant to ask when they had first been put up there.

"Hey Greg, what do these guys want with you exactly?" He was surprised at the curt tone of Greg's response.

"How should I know?"

"Well, as far as I remember, when they pulled us out of the van, Forman specifically asked about you and didn't seem to even want me around -and you seemed to know what they were talking about before." Nick looked over at him. "They're getting a $20 million ransom for you Greggo; you've got to be pretty important to somebody, but I didn't catch who." Greg shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact and further peaking Nick's curiosity in the process.

"My parents are billionaires," he said finally, sounding embarrassed. Nick raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"How come we never heard anything about it?" he questioned.

"By 'we' I assume you mean the team?" He scoffed. "Do you think that if you guys knew how rich my parents were, you wouldn't just assume that it was only daddy's deep pockets that made me a CSI?"

"Well, only if we didn't know you personally," he pointed out with a grin. Greg smiled in return, grateful more now than ever that he had Nick as a friend.

"Thanks."

"Hey, I only speak the truth bro."

Greg's smile would've lasted longer had the trapdoor not swung open and the three kidnappers not reappeared at the top of the ladder. The two of them sat up off of the floor and after a few seconds, Greg found himself once more looking at their captives from over Nick's tensed shoulder, but found himself without a voice to tell him not to do anything this time, for his sake.

Forman was the only one to break the sudden silence.

"Sorry to interrupt boys, but we're still $21 million short in our savings account. It's time for a reminder."

* * *

**A/N:** there you have it, chapter 4! i hope you liked it! review please, cause chapter 5 is ready and waiting to go on:):) 


	5. A Small Break and an Unfriendly Reminder

**A/N:** chapter 5 has arrived! in response to the several requests for a speedy update, i decided to be nice this time - besides, i had a pretty cruddy day, so it'd cheer me up to read a few more reviews. anywho, enjoy and share your oppinion:):)

**Chapter 5 – A Small Break and an Unfriendly Reminder**

After questioning ex-police officer Allan Brent, a nervous middle-aged man who readily cooperated in exchange for less jail-time, they came away with one very important name: Jeremy Coarse, who, according to Mr. Brent, supplied the money for the paint job on the false police cruiser, and orchestrated the whole the kidnapping, having had access to the personal files and family information of every law enforcement officer including that of Greg Sanders. It was perfectly legal access too: he happened to be the head of the review board. Apparently, it had been Coarse who had arranged their team's reviews to be one after the other and on the same day to make sure that Greg would be alone at the arson scene, a crime that Coarse had had committed by the murderers Frank Muller and friends for the very purpose of Greg's abduction. They hadn't counted on Nick being there, and had therefore been forced to improvise, their options being either to kill him or to take him as well; Grissom was incredibly grateful that they had chosen the latter.

Currently, Grissom and Brass were on their way to Mr. Coarse's office, having arrived at the building shortly before 12:00 a.m. It wasn't long before they were ignoring his secretary's protests and walking up to him where he sat at his expensive looking desk. Brass flashed him his badge as he made introductions.

"Mr. Coarse, I'm a detective with Las Vegas P-D, and this is Gil Grissom, a crime scene investigator. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" he said tersely. Ignoring the accusing glares he was receiving from his two visitors, Coarse nodded, motioning to the two chairs in front of him. "Thank you. Now getting down to business: we have reason to believe that you organized and executed the abduction of Greg Sanders and Nick Stokes, two CSI's, at approximately 9:10 this morning." Coarse cocked an eyebrow, wrinkling his 55-year-old face even further.

"And what makes you think I would've had anything to do with that awful crime?" Grissom answered.

"The confession and written statement of ex-officer Brent saying that you hired him to get rid of the perimeter officers at the arson scene where the kidnapping took place, and his and your phone records of frequent calls between the two of you, for a start." Coarse shifted in his seat but maintained an expression of confusion and indignancy.

"This accusation is absurd! If you're going to take the word of an ex-cop turned criminal over mine with that kind of circumstantial evidence, then the criminology and detective divisions have truly lost their touch!" Grissom smiled.

"You're right, we would never even try to bring charges against you with evidence as weak as all that."

"I'm glad we agree."

"But, I think we _would_ try it with evidence such as this." And with that, Grissom pulled a small tape recorder out of his pocket and placed it in front of him on Coarse's desk, pressing play at the same time. By the time the tape's several recorded phone discussions had finished playing, Coarse's face had gone ashen and both Brass and Grissom were smiling grimly now. "You see, Brent was apparently afraid that you might try to keep his share of the $20 million and so wired his answering machine to record all of your conversations, in case he needed to have a bargaining chip to persuade you to rethink his cut." Coarse was sweating now, and Brass smiled awkwardly before standing and moving beside Coarse, pulling out his cuffs.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

* * *

In interrogation Coarse remained in a stony silence, refusing to reveal the location of where Nick and Greg were being held, resulting in his being transferred to the county lock-up and all of his possessions that he carried being confiscated, including his cell phone. Walking into the lab, Grissom found that the entire team was still in there, Sara and Catherine hovering over Archie's shoulder while he tried to trace the ransom video e-mail, Warrick watching the ransom video frame-by-frame, looking for any clue at all as to a location. Grissom cleared his throat to call their attention towards him. 

"Has anyone made any progress?" All shook their heads sadly. "Well, this might help then: we nailed Coarse. He's sitting in the lock-up right now and this right here –" He help up the phone. " –is his cell phone. Could you get an address on every number in the call history?" Archie nodded and took the phone, setting to work on it immediately.

It was at that moment that the phone in the lab rang. Grissom picked it up, at the same time rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Grissom here."

"Was I in any way unclear about my demands?" Stiffening, suddenly very much awake, Grissom snapped his fingers at Archie, mouthing the words, 'Get a trace on this call' as he put the phone on speaker and replaced the receiver in its cradle. Archie moved quickly to comply while Grissom took a deep breath to calm himself before answering.

"No, your demands were very clear," he said, uncomfortably aware of the three sets of eyes that were on him and the phone. "Mr. Sanders is in the process of wiring your money to you as we speak."

"I may not have your fancy university degree Mr. Grissom, but I'm smart enough to know that no wire transfer takes two hours." Grissom winced but recovered quickly.

"Well Forman, $21 million is an awfully large sum of money, and paperwork for such a large transfer has to be filled out to avoid IRS and police interference." He paused. This was his chance, maybe his only one, to talk to his guys himself, to check up on them. "Of course, I could probably get them to fast-track through the details if we had some type of proof that both hostages are still alive and well enough." Scuffling sounded over the speaker and echoed throughout the lab before a voice took its place, soundingstrained and very tired.

"H-Hello?" Though it was difficult to tell, the voice belonged to Greg and Grissom let out a small sigh of relief, along with the other three.

"Greg, it's Grissom. How're you holding up?"

"I haven't been able to take a deep breath since I got here, but other than that, I'm fine," he joked meekly before becoming solemn once more. "Nick's lost a lot of blood Griss. I don't know how long he can hold out like this." Catherine felt the sudden need to sit down and did, careful not to make a sound.

"Well hang in there Greg, you're gonna be out of there soon. Can I talk to Nick?"

"Sure Griss. Oh, and one more thing…"

"You name it Greg."

"I'm going to need a serious pick-me-up after this, so make some of my Blue Hawaiian coffee for me; it's in the bottom left drawer of the far left counter in the break room, hidden at the back under the plastic bags." Grissom smiled slightly.

"Will do."

"Here's Nick." The next voice that came on made Grissom do a double-take.

"Grissom?" Nick's voice was weak and wispy, almost distant sounding and Sara sat down on the chair beside Catherine's, doing everything short of biting her own tongue to keep herself from interrupting with far less productive conversation. "Yeah, Greg was exaggerating; I've been worse than this before," he rasped, failing at his attempt to add levity to the situation. Swallowing, Grissom finally found his voice.

"Nick, have you stopped the bleeding?"

"Yeah, it must've been half-an-hour ago, or something like that. I dunno, they took my watch…" His voice trailed off for a second. He could feel exhaustion creeping up on him and was having a noticeably hard time warding it off to speak coherently. "Don't worry Griss, I'm fi – I really am fine Griss, I am." His voice trailed off again and Grissom struggled to remain calm, cool, and collected.

"Nick, how's your vision?"

"It's not really clear, but there isn't much light coming into this attic, so that's prol – probal – probably it. I'm just really ti – tired right now…" His voice was becoming more distant and quieter.

"Nick – Nick! Stay with me now, you gotta stay awake. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure Griss, I can do that, I – " He stopped in mid-sentence and for a second Grissom was afraid that he'd passed out, until a familiar voice returned.

"Satisfied?" Grissom sighed yet again.

"Yes, thank you."

"So, how about that transfer?" Grissom really didn't know what to say and suddenly wished Brass were here to instruct him – if he lied and told him that it was being done when it wasn't, Greg and Nick would more than likely suffer for it; if he got Brass to give the okay to start the transfer before they could track down where his guys were being held, their captors could go back on their word and leave with the money and abandon the two men where they were, and they'd never find them then. He finally settled on a decision.

"We're working on it but I – " He was cut off abruptly by a gunshot on the other end and this time Sara couldn't help the small cry she emitted when Greg cried out in the background. "What did you do!" Grissom yelled into the phone. "Greg! Greg, are you alright?" They heard Nick yell as well, though they couldn't make out what he was saying.

"He'll be fine," came the calm response. "He got lucky: it only grazed his leg, but he sure is putting up a fuss over it." As proof, they heard Greg grunt and gasp in an effort to keep quiet. "So, you were saying something about my money?" Biting back further comment, Grissom gritted out an answer.

"It will be transfered within the hour."

"Glad to hear it. Have a nice day." Nick's voice rang out one last time, now sounding desperate, lost even.

"Grisso– " The line went dead. For a long moment no one moved to hang up, but sat there listening to the dial tone, hearing in it their friend's voices. No one even bothered to ask Archie if he had gotten a location; his silence was answer enough. Finally, Grissom hit the hang up button and only silence remained.

* * *

Foreman had shot Greg so suddenly and without warning that Nick didn't have a chance to retaliate before the other two were able to secure a vice grip on his arms, holding him well back. Instead, ignoring the searing pain coming from the wound gripped in their hands, exhaustion forgotten, he contented himself with yelling threats and swears at the gunman until he finally calmed down and they released him so that he could go to Greg. Though it had only grazed his leg, it was obviously painful enough, and it took all of Nick's willpower to keep him from attempting a third and failing attack on this man. For a second, Nick even forgot that Grissom wasn't there but on the phone, and he called out to him, his wall of reserve cracking as he was faced with another injury that was slowly draining their hope for survival. He needed his boss and friend there with him, he didn't know what to do any more… 

The beep of Forman hanging up and the three captors exiting the attic brought him back to reality and he turned his attention to tearing a strip of fabric off his surviving sleeve. Getting Greg to roll up his pant leg a ways, he tied the makeshift tourniquet around the wound on the front of his calf before helping him to sit up against the wall once more.

"You okay?" Nick asked weakly, though he had a pretty good idea of the answer.

"I guess I'll live," Greg responded with a small smile, staring resolutely at the ceiling before squeezing his eyes shut again.

At this point, looking steadily and silently at his friend, Nick wasn't at all sure anymore if that were possible for either of them.

* * *

**A/N:** there you have it! if the reviews keep coming, so do the chapters. and like i said, i had a cruddy day, so please review and let me know, cause i finished the story yesterday, and am waiting on reviews to put the rest on, bit by bit:):) 


	6. Found

**A/N: **here is the much awaited chapter! (the title gives it away, but not all of it! moo-ha-ha!) r&r, i hope you like it:):)

**Chapter 6 – Found**

"Hey guys, I've got locations on those numbers." Archie's words broke the near trance that had been over the room and they all moved to look over his shoulder, Grissom reading them out loud.

"Allen Brent, Allan Brent, Review Board Memo Line, Allan Brent…" He paused, frowning. "Thomson & Co. Shipping?" Archie nodded.

"Yeah, I thought that was a little weird too, so I checked it out and found that this number connects directly to the phone in the foreman's on site home at a shipping yard about half-an-hour outside town." Sara jumped in.

"Would it have an attic?"

"Yeah, probably, but that's _really_ reaching. They could be in _any_ house or building with an attic in Vegas."

"When was the last call to this place made?" she asked, her eagerness unhindered.

"Around – " He looked up at her. " – two hours ago."

It was then that Brass walked in. Before he could say anything, Grissom strode over to him.

"How fast do you think you could get us and some back-up to Thomson & Co. Shipping outside of town?"

"If we went full speed, we could probably get there in fifteen minutes. Why?"

"I think we've found them."

* * *

Nick's growling stomach woke him from a dead sleep. Having heard this, Greg, who hadn't been able to fall asleep as easily, reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag, holding it out to Nick. 

"Here, have a cookie. I had planned on saving it for lunch, but I have no idea what time it is and you're hungrier than I am." Too weak to protest, he gratefully accepted the food, trying but failing to eat it slowly to make it last a little longer. All the same, having something in his stomach made him feel a little stronger.

"Thanks a lot man."

"No problem." For a long while they sat in silence, literally counting the minutes as they passed, before Nick suddenly looked down at himself and then over at Greg who noticed his glance and heard his quiet chuckle. He gave him a confused look.

"What's so funny?" Still smiling, Nick looked up at him, looking truly at ease for the first time since the phone call.

"I was just picturing how funny the two of us are gonna look when we finally get patched up." Pausing for a moment, Greg grinned as well.

"I imagine we'll look like we've been hit by a transport." Nick's smile broadened.

"Twice." At this, both couldn't help but laugh outright, though quietly, glad for the opportunity to relieve some of the tension that comes from waiting in fear.

It was all Nick could do to keep from screaming when Greg all of a sudden grabbed his injured arm in an iron grip.

"Greg…let…go! Please!" he gasped as white-hot pain exploded from the wound. "My arm…" Greg turned to look at him, his eyes unbelievably wide as he quickly released him.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered frantically.

"Hear what?" Nick asked, curious and confused now that the pain had subsided once more to the aggravating throb.

"Sirens!" Greg breathed. "I heard sirens!" Listening hard, Nick eventually had to shake his head. As much as he wanted so desperately to believe that help was actually on the way, he knew it was next to impossible; if Forman had any brains at all he would have encoded the e-mail and the phone to make them untraceable, and the last time he had looked out the window, it had looked as though they were in the middle of the desert. On top of all that, it was dead silent outside. He sighed deeply, tiredly.

"I don't hear anything Greg. I'm sorry." However, Greg didn't look any less enthused.

"I know I heard them! I haven't got an active enough imagination to have heard them in my head. I swear, it was short, but it was there!"

* * *

Grissom was still fuming in the passenger seat of Brass' car – they had specifically told each unit that it was to be a silent approach, and yet, when they were in sight of the barren looking compound, two of the six cars started up their sirens. Luckily Brass got over the radio immediately and ordered them to turn their sirens off, hopefully before their sound could alert their prey, potentially resulting in violent retaliation against their captives. 

"Hang on guys," Grissom whispered to himself, the sound of their scared and pained voices calling his name still very fresh in his memory. "I'm coming. Hang on for just a little while longer."

* * *

It had been a few minutes since Greg's claim, and Nick's hopefulness finally got the better of him; he just couldn't help it – he _had_ to look, he had to be sure. 

Hardly making a sound, he stood and tiptoed over to the window, gazing out over the labyrinth of warehouses and to the surrounding desert lands… His mouth opened to speak and his eyes widened in disbelief – it was impossible, improbable, incredible, amazing… He was almost afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him, but as he continued to watch, the situation stayed the same, and the cars driving in their direction never changed course or disappeared, shimmering, into the beaming desert sun – and they were rapidly getting closer, the design of the squad cars filling him with more joy than he thought he possible – what he was seeing was _real_.

It was a moment before he was able to force the words out to Greg who had begun to stare at him.

"Greg! Oh my God, Greg! They're here! They found us!"

* * *

The convoy finally entered the empty warehouse community, all headed for the centre of the buildings where the overseer's house would be. Brass again picked up the radio. 

"All units, all units, listen up: when we arrive at the house, move in quickly and quietly inside and take down the perps, alive if possible. Don't forget: there are two CSI hostages inside, last known location in the attic but they could be anywhere on the premises, so gentlemen, this is no time for mistakes."

* * *

Both Greg and Nick were standing at the window now, watching with disbelieving eyes as the police cars weaved in and out of sight between the warehouses, coming closer by the second. 

"What's the first thing you're going to do when we get out of here?" Greg whispered. Nick though for a minute.

"I'm taking a two-hour shower," he said wistfully. "Then I'm going to sleep for three days. What about you?" After a few seconds, Greg smiled.

"I'm going to ask Sara to dinner, complete with candlelight." Nick looked at him with a grin.

"It's about time!"

"Yeah, I probably could've chosen a better time to work up the nerve, but hey, better late than never, right?" Nick bit back the urge to point out that it almost _had_ been 'never', and answered with an easy smile.

"Definitely."

In the following second, two things happened in quick succession: the cars cleared the buildings, gunning towards the house, and the attic door burst open, the three kidnappers dragging them painfully back down the ladder and to the corner of the room that was opposite the front door. Almost as soon as they had positioned the two CSI's in front of them, standing, with their guns aimed at their necks, the front door was kicked in and a flood of officers, headed by Brass and Grissom, poured in, all of them halting a short distance in front of the corner, their guns raised. Grissom didn't take his eyes off Nick and Greg; they looked more worn out than before, Nick especially, blood working its way through the makeshift bandage on his arm made out of what looked to be the remnants of his sleeve. Moreover, the two bore expressions of such hope and relief mixed in with fresh fear that he couldn't bear to look away as he spoke in an icy tone.

"Let them go. You're outnumbered and back-up is going to be here in minutes and we can easily take all three of you down in less." The tallest and bulkiest of the three, presumably Forman, responded in an equally icy tone, using his thumb to pull back the hammer on the gun that was now pressed up against Nick's temple.

"I can just as easily take this one with me if you don't back out of this house, and chances are, one of my people can get the other one." Grissom had no intention of going that easily.

"How about a trade then? Me for them." Nick's eyes widened, hardly believing what he was hearing; he had wanted Grissom here, but he _certainly_ wasn't about to let him put himself in his place.

"No Grissom! Don't do – " He was cut off as Forman brought the butt of his gun down on the side of his face just beside his right eye, not hard enough to knock him out, but with enough force so that for a brief second he saw white, too stunned to do anything but give a small cry as he staggered. Forman didn't allow him to fall, holding him steady with his hand grasping the back of his sorry-looking shirt.

"What's your name Tex?" he asked malevolently. "I never did get around to asking." For a second, Nick didn't answer and Forman jabbed his forming bruise with the gun's barrel. This seemed to convince him that silence was not the way to go, and Grissom was relieved when Nick finally spoke.

"Nick," he said through gritted teeth. Forman smiled a threatening smile, and spoke in a matching voice.

"Well, Nick, I'll do the talking from here on in unless _I_ say different. Got it?" Another jab. Nick nodded submissively, but his eyes bore into Grissom's, their look clearly stating what he had already said. He was almost relieved at Forman's answer - almost."Oh, and about your offer, Grissom was it? There's no way I'm trading two clearly well liked hostages, one of which who has filthy-rich parents, for one old man. So like I said before, slowly back out the door. I'm sure you've got the phone number for this place by now, so give us a ring when you're ready to make a worthwhile deal." Seeing no other alternative, the group slowly backed away, one-by-one leaving, until Grissom was the only one left.

"This is your last chance to go quietly, because once I'm out this door, this will officially be a hostage negotiation wherein you have two officers as your hostages, meaning that, if we can, we _will_ take you out." The two beside Forman looked at each other uncertainly, now clearly nervous, but Forman remained firm.

"Well Mr. Grissom, I guess you better tell that back-up of yours when it gets here that you've got a hostage negotiation on your hands." That same unnerving smile. "Close the door behind you, if you don't mind."

Slowly and with a heavy heart, he cleared the doorway and as he closed the door, he knew that the pleading and disbelieving looks on Nick's and Greg's faces as their rescuers including himself left them would remain burned into his memory forever, whether the two made it through this or not.

* * *

Five minutes away from the compound, Sara, Catherine, and Warrick were squeezed uncomfortably into the back of one of the ten squad cars on their way to give the first recovery party back-up, if they needed it, though they probably wouldn't. However, none out of the three even cared about their close proximities, each imagining in their minds what they would do, what they would say when they saw their friends again, such as Sara contemplating flirting back to Greg when he started; she really didn't mind it. In fact, over the past hours, she had found herself missing Greg _and_ his flirting terribly.

However, when they arrived at the house only to find out from Grissom that they had been unsuccessful in their rescue and that both Nick and Greg were still inside, she suddenly felt a small hole in her heart that she hadn't before noticed expand as she took her place behind a squad car with the others to settle in for what was probably going to be the longest day of her life.

* * *

**A/N:** there you have it! and it is still about five chapters from being over, so keep those reviews coming:):)


	7. What Are Friends For?

**A/N: **heyhey! sorry that this chapter is a day later than promised, but my computer completely freaked out on me yesterday, so it kinda took me a while to reboot it, fix it, find my story, then manage to get it on. "but hey, better late than never right?"lol(see nickgreg convo in chapter 6 if you don't get it:) anyways, without further ado, here it is: chapter 7!

**Chapter 7 – What Are Friends For?**

"So what you're trying to tell me is that you were right there with them but you turned around and left! Is that what you're telling me!"

Grissom shied away from the phone and Paul Sanders' yells for a second before bringing it back to his ear, trying to keep the apprehensiveness out of his voice as he responded.

"We didn't have any other choice Mr. Sanders. They had a gun to your son's head and Nick's. We had no clear shot without risking his _and_ Greg's lives, so we thought it best to temporarily stand down." He could hear Paul sigh on the other end, trying to keep his fear for his son in check as he spoke again.

"Is it too late to wire the money and just let these bastards take it and leave?" Grissom shook his head at no one.

"It wouldn't do any good. We can't allow them to leave the scene and go free – you know that as well as I do."

"I – I just want my son back." He could tell the man was fighting back tears and spoke sympathetically, his heart truly going out to him.

"We all do Mr. Sanders, but there's nothing more you can do at this point. We've made the first move – all we can do now is wait until an opportunity presents itself." He could hear him take in a breath as though he were about to speak, but in the end he seemed to rethink what he had been about to say, settling merely for asking to be kept posted as things went before hanging up without another word.

He wasn't aware of just how much his emotions were showing through until a voice spoke beside him.

"They're going to be okay Gil," Catherine said softly, her gaze not leaving his face. It was then that he looked over at her, and for the first time in all the years she had known him, she saw uncertainty and doubt etched into his features, the result being more unnerving and frightening than the eerie stillness that had settled over the area. Grissom was _never_ afraid, he was _never_ shaken-up, tossed off balance – and yet that look…

She found herself wrapping her arms tightly around his middle, burying her face in his jacket. Without hesitation, he returned the hug ten-fold, muttering words of comfort into her hair as they stood there. She hated feeling this scared, hated feeling this helpless when people that she loved were getting hurt not twenty feet away…so close, yet completely out of her reach, out of her control…

"The front door is opening, repeat, the front door is opening – everyone, at the ready; hold your positions." The voice over the car radio tore them from their brief retreat from chaos as they rejoined the others at the cars, looking towards the door, watching with racing hearts as it slowly edged open.

* * *

"You know, I think I'm staring to miss the attic," Greg commented in a whisper as the two captives watched the three criminals tape cardboard and blankets over the windows. They had each been tied to chairs, side by side, in the middle of the room, Nick already straining against the ropes that held his arms to those of the chair. 

"I'm starting to miss the handcuffs," he gritted, the ties digging painfully into his skin as he tried to pull his hands out from under them. The skin on his wrists was already raw from his efforts, making it all the more difficult to try any harder. "Hey Greg, are your ropes any looser?"

"I dunno, I'll try to see if I can get one of my hands free."

"I wouldn't suggest you try _anything_ Greg." Startled, both looked up to find that the woman of the group had silently walked over to them and was currently standing there, a gun loosely held in her left hand at her side. "Learn from your friend's mistakes and take my word for it: just ride this out, don't try to escape; don't give Forman an excuse to kill you and you'll make it out of here. He may have a short fuse, but he always keeps his word." And with that she walked away to continue her work on the large number of windows.

"I'll bet he does," Nick muttered under his breath, and Greg looked over at him.

"You think we should listen to her?" Though he looked a little sceptical, Nick nodded stiffly.

"At this point, she may be right; that might be our only way to walk out of here," he said, giving up his struggling and slumping as far as the ropes would allow. He had grown to hate the moments like these when there was nothing for him to do, nothing for him to focus all of his attention on so that his muscles and body in general would have a job to work on to keep distracted from the fact that every part of him ached incredibly and his energy reserves had virtually emptied since that morning. He was starting to feel tired again, even more than before, and he struggled with his drooping eyelids, a loosing battle…

"Hey, Nick – Nick!" His eyes reopened. "Don't go passing out on me okay?"Greg whispered, a little desperate. "We're gonna get out of here soon and you can sleep then, alright?"

Nick didn't have a chance to answer before Forman came over and started to untie him, the woman aiming her gun at him just in case, though Nick doubted he'd have been strong enough to try anything even if he'd wanted to. Finished, Forman stood up straight, pulling out his own weapon.

"Come on CSI Nick; I've got a little job for you," he said, pulling Nick roughly to his feet and dragging him, stumbling to the door where he took his place behind him, the barrel of his gun poised at the base of his neck. "One wrong move and I'll paralyse you. Got that Tex?" Nick nodded silently. "Good. Now open the door and start walking towards your buddies." He did as he was told, opening the door slowly and stepping out into the bright afternoon. After being in near total darkness for the entire morning, he virtually couldn't see and grimaced, shielding his eyes as Forman, who had put on sunglasses, forced him to continue stumbling until they were in the centre of the semi-circle of police cars no more than ten feet away from them.

It goes without saying that his very appearance sent chills through the very souls of his team mates, none wanting to believe that this was really the Nick that they knew and loved in front of them, this battered man that looked as though a strong wind could knock him clear off his feet as he was forced forward in front of his captor, the man that every officer present would be more than happy to see dead.

Holding onto Nick who was constantly swaying, Forman began his speech.

"Good afternoon ladies and gents! For those of you who don't know me, my name's Forman, and I'll be your host for the duration of this little show. However, the last thing I want to do is sit out here cooking in the sun while you guys work things out, so I've brought along this brave volunteer to deliver something for me." He gave Nick a solid shove that sent him stumbling to his hands and knees in the dirt, having a hard time pushing himself back up on limbs that just didn't seem to want anything to do with it.

"He can barely even stand Grissom," Catherine whispered, tears in her eyes, though their entire group heard it. She thought back to that look and knew that she bore the same one at this moment, the same look of sadness and doubt that she despised having to wear, only able to stand there with the others and watch him struggle shakily back to his feet, his eyes focussed on the ground in front of him.

Nick couldn't bring himself to look up at his friends; the last thing he wanted was for them to see the fear and pain he knew showed on his face, and so he stared determinedly at the ground, focussing his attention on holding his legs steady enough to stay standing.

"Now," Forman continued when Nick finished righting himself. "My volunteer is going to bring you this radio," he said, tossing it to Nick who somehow managed to catch it, "of which I have the twin. After placing it on the hood of your car, he will return into the house with me. If you make any attempt to take me down, then my assistant will be forced to shoot your guy. And she is an _excellent_ marksman. And if you try to pull him behind your lines, his young friend will suffer for it." He re-aimed his gun at Nick's head. "Well Nick, give the man his radio." Not wanting to have to be told twice, Nick gradually stumbled forward, clutching the radio in both hands to keep them from shaking, across the longest ten feet he'd ever walked before finally falling against the hood of the car, exhausted, that served as cover for the rest of his team.

"Oh God, Nick! Are you okay? Nick!" Nick couldn't tell who had said what part of what he had just heard and it took him a moment to find it in him to raise his tired eyes to look at them, seeing the looks he knew he'd see and had been so set on avoiding; they looked to be horrified, though he pretended not to notice. He managed a weak smile, if only for their sake.

"Hey guys," he said quietly, holding out his bloodied left hand. "Here's your radio." Though all four had planned extensively in their heads what they would say to Nick or Greg by way of comfort or reassurance, they suddenly found themselves devoid of all ability to speak, able only to look from his face, to his arm, to the radio clutched in a trembling hand. Grissom looked physically pained as he stared for a moment at his arm before slowly reaching forward and taking what was offered. He looked down at it then up at Nick, his expression sad.

"Are you hanging in there?" Nick nodded, though he could barely confirm it as true. "How's Greg?" He looked down at the car's hood, knowing that Greg wouldn't want them to be as worried as they already seemed just by seeing him, and so he improvised.

"He's okay I guess." He looked Grissom in the eye and Grissom felt the breath leave his body as he stared at the most feared emotions in hostages: resignation and acceptance, two things that all of them had been afraid that their friends would resort to, but all the while hoping that it was somehow different with Nick, that he had somehow remained optimistic throughout everything that had happened. But now they knew for sure that it was impossible, and they were even more certain when Nick spoke again in a near whisper. "No matter what happens Griss, no matter how this thing turns out, don't blame yourself, any of you," he said, looking at Warrick, Sara, and Catherine each in turn. "We know you've done all that you can."

Warrick wanted to reach forward and shake him, to snap him out of this reverie he had sunken into, to get the old Nick back. Then again, he knew that had he been in his place, he would more than likely be saying the same things in that same tone. He shook his head, unable, or perhaps unwilling to accept what Nick was saying; _of course_ he would blame himself if things went south and Nick didn't make it out of this, how could he not?

Nick hated the way Catherine was looking at him, in a way that said she was terrified that if she let him out of her sight, she'd never see him again. It was almost the mirror look he was getting from Grissom who like the other two had been left speechless at what he had said. He turned his face away and closed his eyes, not wanting to see those looks any longer. Sara broke the silence.

"Nick…" He looked up at her and was surprised yet relieved to see an inkling of hope in her eyes as she looked at him. "You take care of yourself in there, you hear me? And tell Greg to keep hanging on – you'll be out of there soon, okay?" Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he didn't try to keep them from falling as he looked at her warmly, overflowing with gratitude.

A shot fired into the air behind him made him flinch and slowly turn his head as Forman yelled at him.

"Enough chatter!" Taking one last look at them, and offering another slight smile, he set his jaw and turned, walking away from them back to Forman, who grabbed his injured arm, making him cry out weakly as he started pulling and pushing him back towards the house's stairs. Warrick found his hand reaching for his gun, the idea of pulling it out and emptying a clip in that bastard Forman's back suddenly seeming like the best thing to do.

He never had the chance.

Suddenly gunshots erupted from the house and return fire was thrown back at it, Forman pulling Nick off to the side for cover but making sure to keep him in front to act as his human shield. The battle raged for little more than a minute before Brass' yelling voice was finally able to project itself over the din.

"Cease fire!" he shouted through the megaphone. "Cease fire! All of you!" The second the patrolmen stopped firing, the lot was thrown into an unnatural silence and for a moment Nick was frozen in shock, before it finally registered that Greg had been inside the now bullet riddled house when the shooting started, tied to a chair, unable to go for cover…

He wrenched free of Forman's grip, stumbling up the stairs and towards the door.

"Nick, no!" He hardly heard Grissom's yell.

"Greg!" He threw it open and raced in, jumping over the bodies of the other two kidnappers, hearing Forman yell behind him and rush in, slamming the door but not pursuing him immediately. Nick heaved a sigh of relief when he rounded the corner and saw Greg alive and unhurt in his chair and rushed over to him.

"Nick!" he cried in relief. He'd been afraid of two things when the first shots were fired: that he wouldn't be able to dodge bullets tied to a chair, and that Nick, being outside, would get caught in the crossfire.

"What the hell happened?" Nick asked as his numb fingers started fumbling with Greg's ties.

"I don't know," he said tiredly. "One second they were standing on either side of the door and the next they said something about one of the CSI cops reaching for his piece and so they started firing and, and…" He didn't want to, nor did he need to continue as Nick nodded that he understood.

"It's okay," he whispered hurriedly. "I'll have you out of here in a minute."

"Just hur – look out!" he cried suddenly, and Nick whipped around just in time for the large butt of the machine gun Forman was wielding to come into solid and stunning contact with his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground a few feet from Greg's chair. Blood covered Forman's hands making it clear that he'd been delayed in his return by his failed attempts to resuscitate his team.

"And you!" Forman growled, turning to Greg. "I don't know exactly what happened here, but I can pretty much guess: your friends outside shot _my_ friends when they saw the opening, just like they said they would, and so I'll just have to retaliate." He aimed the gun at Greg, releasing the safety. Greg lifted his one free hand in front of him, his eyes and voice desperate.

"No, wait! That's not what happened! Please!" He cocked the gun.

At that moment, Nick regained consciousness and his eyes widened as he saw the scene playing out before him.

"Greg!"

He threw himself in front of his friend just as Forman pulled the trigger.

_TBC..._


	8. Any Last Words?

**A/N: **okay, for those reviewers that have been hoping for a conclusion to come soon to find out how it ends, don't hate me for this chapter, pretty please? anywho, yeah, this chapter is dedicated to my ever-faithful reviewers who make posting each new chapter the best part of my day! r&r and enjoy:):)

**Chapter 8 – Any Last Words?**

That last shot sounded with an air of such finality that Grissom felt as though it had been him who had been on the receiving end of the bullet as he scrabbled for the radio, barely managing to press down the talk button.

"Hello? Hello! This is Grissom, is anyone in there injured? I repeat, has anyone been shot? Come back!" The static on the other end seemed to drag on forever before it was finally silenced by a voice: it was Forman.

"Hey Grissom, long time no talk. How've you been?"

"Forman, has anyone in there been shot?" His question was all but answered when he heard Greg's voice in the background.

"Nick! Oh my God, Nick, can you hear me? Nick!" Catherine's legs nearly buckled but Warrick caught her and held her steady, though she hardly noticed.

"No…" she breathed, staring pleadingly at the radio as though willing something to come out of it that disproved the implication of Greg's words. "Nick…"

Forman returned with a wry chuckle.

"I think that just about sums it up. Don't you?" He sighed mockingly. "Don't get me wrong, taking a bullet for a friend is probably a good way to go, but I have to say that I wouldn't have gotten in the way if my friend was going to die so that I could live. It is a small disappointment that I didn't get to kill the Texan's little pet, but I suppose that one CSI is as good as the next for this type of situation." Grissom couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't bring himself to believe that Nick had been killed, just like that – but what Greg said, the shear panic and raw fear in which he said it…

He swallowed hard and forced the question out of himself.

"Is he still alive?"

"For now – yes, for how long? I really don't know.Let's just say I wouldn't worry about scraping up his next pay check."

Not letting on the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, Grissom spoke in what he hopped was a firm, demanding tone.

"Let me talk to them."

"Do you have my money?" Grissom sighed, frustrated.

"No."

"In that case, you won't just be talking to them – I suggest you say your goodbyes as well." Before Grissom could try and reason with Forman, there was scuffling sounds, a period of static, and then the line clicked on again.

Nick found it rather difficult to get a solid grip on the radio with one hand and so was forced to hold it between both, fumbling to be able to push the talk button down and to hold it up in front of his face.

"Grissom?" The team could barely tell that the faint voice belonged Nick. Grissom's fear skyrocketed.

"Hey Nicki. How're you holding up?" he asked, trying to sound calm. Nick would have laughed if he had had the energy.

"I'm not holding up as well as I was the last time we spoke, if that's what you mean," came the weak response, followed by a chuckle to match. "I have to say Griss, when I clocked into work this morning, I didn't see my day turning out like this." They could almost hear the difficulty with which he was forming his words. Grissom could almost hear the thoughts of his team and knew the question that they wanted to ask as much as he did.

"Nick, can you do something for me? Could you tell me exactly where the bullet hit you?" Catherine closed her eyes and started pleading to the air for it not to be entirely life threatening, and would have crossed the fingers on both hands had she not been gripping Warrick's arms to keep herself from falling over.

Although the last thing he wanted to do was look at the hole in his stomach, he was glad for the need to concentrate on the specifics of something and so willed his eyes to look down, taking guess measurements. Greg could only sit and watch, staring desperately down at him, all the while straining weakly at the ropes that kept him from being of some use.

"It looks to be about… an inch bellow my ribcage, and about two inches from the middle of my stomach. One second here…" There was a pause before they heard a small cry of pain making all of them cringe, including Greg who had just watched him accidentally jab the exit wound in his search for it. He wiped his fingers gingerly on his jeans as he attempted to update Grissom. "It…it looks like it's a…through-and-through," he said, suddenly short of breath. He gave a chuckle that sounded much weaker than the last. "This use to be my favourite shirt too." He coughed and didn't manage to muffle a grunt of pain, and when he returned, his voice was sombre and quieter than before, though this time not from the bullet wound. "I hear tell that we're supposed to say our goodbyes, so I guess that I might as well; I just wish this could've been face-to-face, not like this, not like this…" Grissom interrupted him, not wanting for him to finish that thought.

"No Nick, don't do this," he said, practically begging him. "You're getting out of there…" But Nick continued as though he hadn't said anything, his words becoming choked and strained.

"You guys are the best people and friends that I've ever had the honour to know, and I love all of you like family, so remember that and take care of yourselves, okay?" Not even Warrick could hold her up now and she sat down hard on the ground, up against the side of the car, her face in her hands, with him kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees in an effort to reassure. It wasn't long before Sara sat beside her, placing her hands on her shoulders. There was a long pause before he could bring himself to finish. "So I guess, one way or another, see you around guys." At that moment static reappeared for another few seconds before another voice was heard.

"Grissom? Hello?" Though exhaustion and pain were dripping from his words as well, Greg sounded as though he were doing a great deal better than Nick, injury and strength wise.

"I'm here Greg. How're you doing?"

"I'm all right I guess. But Griss, Nick's not doing too good; he's lost a ton of blood and he's loosing more still." Grissom's eyes closed and he pulled in a shaky breath, those on the ground beside him looking up at him in despair.

"Put as much pressure on the entry and exit wounds as possible, with your bare hands if necessary." Greg looked over sadly at Nick, his answer quiet.

"I can't."

"Why not?" Grissom demanded, a little too harshly. Nick's life could very well depend on it; this was not the time for Greg to get squeamish at the sight of a lot of blood. The tone of Greg's response however was defensive and exasperated.

"Because I'm tied to a chair and Nick is on the ground in front of me!" They could hear him sigh. "He only got _one_ of my hands free before he got shot." Forman's voice sounded in the background.

"You've got thirty seconds to finish up." Greg sighed again.

"Nick had it right: you guys are the best friends that I ever could've asked for, and if this really is it, I'm going to miss all of you _so_ much." He paused for a moment. "Sara? Sara, are you out there too?" She quickly pushed herself up from the ground, Grissom handing her the radio as she stood beside him. She took it with trembling hands, trying to compose herself enough to hear what Greg had to say, trying in vain not to think of the words already spoken.

"I'm here Greg." Hearing her voice again was almost enough to do him in right then and there, and he found himself pouring out all of his thoughts, not knowing if or when he'd get another chance.

"I just want you to know how much I care about you, how much you mean to me. I – I wish that I could've had enough guts to be with you when I had the chance," he whispered, his voice cracking in his effort to keep it steady. Greg could not see the tears that were sliding down Sara's face as well, but her whispered answer was in his same tone.

"So do I." This actually made Greg smile the smallest of smiles.

"Sara, I – " Before he could finish, Forman snatched the radio away from him.

"Greg! Greg, are you still there?" she asked anxiously.

"His thirty seconds are over," came Forman's hissing voice. "You'll be hearing from me soon."

"Wait – " The static returned. For a long moment, Sara could only stand there holding the radio while her tears continued to fall before Grissom finally reached forward, taking it from her and placing it on the roof of the car before sweeping her into a warm and comforting hug. She sobbed mirthlessly into his forensics jacket, feeling as though Greg had already died. Four hours. That's all that it had taken for her world to fall apart.

Having gotten her emotions under control, Catherine allowed Warrick to help her stand, resuming staring at the house and barely hearing Brass's voice as he discussed forcing entry a few feet away from them, knowing that he wanted to go in as soon as possible so that there'd be some sort of chance to get at least one of them out of there alive. She wasn't sure what she thought of the idea, wasn't sure what option would have a less devastating result than the last, if there was such an option.

Barely five minutes had passed before the four CSIs were torn from their thoughts as the radio came to life once more.

* * *

The second Forman took the radio away from him, Greg looked anxiously back at Nick whose breaths had grown steadily shallower, his gaze focussed on the wall across from him through constantly drooping eyelids while his feet and legs fidgeted occasionally from the pain. Seeing Forman exit into another room, Greg finally spoke. 

"Nick! Common man, hold on, hold on just a little longer and we'll get out of here," he said desperately. Nick's eyes met his and he could see for the first time since everything had started a hint of defeat creeping on through the growing weakness. He shook his head slowly before answering.

"I haven't got much longer Greg, not the way this thing is bleeding," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Greg shook his head disbelievingly.

"Don't give up Nick, please." Tears stung his eyes as he looked pleadingly down at his fading friend, wishing hopelessly that he could somehow free himself and help to put pressure on the gunshot wound Nick had received in protecting _him_. Nick's words from earlier that day resounded now in his head: _I won't let anything happen to you, no matter what._ He had definitely accomplished his self-appointed task – and was now going to pay for it with his life.

Making up his mind, Greg took as deep a breath as his broken ribs would allow before gritting his teeth and setting to work on pulling his bound wrist out from under the rope, twisting his arm this way and that while his free hand worked to try and help it along, all the while trying to ignore the pain coming from the unfairly tight rope tearing into his unprotected skin. The only things he was aware of now was the deafening pounding of his heart in his ears as he struggled and of Nick's worsening condition, and when he was finally free of the chair, his fingers raw from their work, he crouched immediately beside his friend, doing as Grissom had instructed him to try and slow the bleeding a little. Again Nick shook his head.

"No Greg," he rasped weakly, placing his hand on his wrist. "You've got to get out of here while you still can." Greg didn't look up from Nick's wound.

"If you stay, I stay." Nick tried to sound firm but the volume of his voice was barely even whisper worthy.

"No! I can't let you do that! I can't let you die because of me Greg. Go…now… Please go…" Tears of pain mixed with frustration and desperation stung his eyes, a few managing to fall as Greg finally looked up at him, his eyes brimming with tears as well but his voice steady, unwavering.

"It's my decision whether or not I stay or go, and I'm not abandoning you here, so I'm staying. Besides," he said with a grim half-smile, "I'd love to see you try to _make_ me leave in the shape you're in." Nick couldn't help but grin slightly; he had a point.

"Did we not like the chair?" asked a cold voice behind Greg. He turned his head to look up at Forman, not trying to hide the contempt and hate in his voice as he answered.

"I'd like it just fine if my friend wasn't bleeding to death on the floor," he snapped.

"Well, I hope he's got enough energy to deliver a message for me," he said, tossing the radio into Nick's lap where his hand was able to reach for it. He slowly looked back up at Forman, dreading the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"What's the message?" he whispered. Forman smiled.

* * *

"Grissom? Sara? Is anybody there?" Nick's whispered question had barely finished before Grissom snatched up the radio from the car roof. 

"Yeah Nick, we're all here. What is it? What's wrong?"

"Forman wants me to tell you something," he said, pausing. "He-he made a bomb Griss, and set the timer for seven minutes; he says if by that time the money hasn't been transferred, he'll let it go off." Grissom's blood went cold, as did that of the other three – a _bomb_. Warrick voiced the question that all four of them were afraid that they knew the answer to.

"Why would he have the stuff to make a bomb just hanging around? He couldn't have known that all this was going to happen." Grissom spoke the answer they'd all been thinking.

"They must've planned on using it to get rid of Nick and Greg once they'd gotten the money and didn't need them anymore."

They stood in dreading silence as Nick continued.

"Griss, you and I both know that I haven't got much time left, so you have to promise me now that no matter what happens, you'll get Greg out of here." Grissom's voice evaded him at such a request. How could he ask for something like that? What was he supposed to say? The way things were going, there was going to be a crater where the house used should be in less than seven minutes time. How was he supposed to get Greg out of there before that happened? "Promise me Grissom," he said when no answer came. "I made Greg that promise, and I don't care who keeps it, just as long as it's kept." It took a minute for the unspoken message to hit Grissom and the others full-force: Nick was dying – he did not expect to make it out of there alive. Tears threatened to fall as his constricted throat reduced his voice to a whisper as well.

"I promise Nick." The tears fell silently. "I promise." Static returned.

* * *

**A/N:** want to know what happens next? review and find out in the next chapter:):) lol moo-ha-ha! 


	9. Showdown

**A/N:** what can i say? here's another chapter! thanks again for the awesome reviews - it is because of those that i decided to rush the update - call it an extra thank you! enjoy:):) (and don't forget to review!lol)

**Chapter 9 – Showdown**

"Okay, so in case he does check the validity of the transfer, it will show up as being actual money?" Paul asked, uncertain of this new approach. For the third time since the method had been suggested and forcing entry on the house had been decided against, Grissom found himself confirming the question.

"Absolutely. It would be a few days before the computer coding on the cyber-dollars wore down enough for him to be able to see their actual origin," he said, feeling confidant for the first time that day. "This way, we can make him feel safe enough to at least release Greg and Nick without any further incident." The answer came back without hesitance.

"You have my consent." He hung up. Right away Grissom took up Sara's cell phone where Archie was waiting at the other end.

"Archie?"

"We got the go-ahead?"

"Yeah. Do it. Now." Grissom could hear computer keys being pounded mercilessly in the background until Archie's voice finally returned.

"Okay, I've sent the command through, half of the funds will show up in the account in about five minutes, the other half in another five."

"Thanks a lot Archie," Grissom said gratefully.

"No problem. Just call me when our guys are home free." He nodded.

"I promise." He hung up and turned to the team, repeating Archie's last instructions back to them. "I figure after five minutes, we ask him to release one of them, half the hostages for half the ransom, see if we can get Nick out of there before he bleeds out." No one had anything to say on the matter, able only to nod wordlessly as they looked back at the house, wishing that they could know what was going on inside its walls.

* * *

When Forman had taken the radio and left the room once more, Greg had returned his attention to Nick who hadn't said a word since his brief conversation with Grissom. The fidgeting had stopped and now he merely sat staring at the ground by his feet, blinking slowly and breathing even slower. Though he didn't say it out loud, Greg kept on asking the same questions in his head, over and over: Was Nick really going to die here? Could he manage without him? Would he even want to try? He hoped against hope that he would be able to hold on for just a little longer... not that it really mattered anyways: this whole mess was guaranteed to be over in less than seven minutes, and if blood-loss and bullet damage didn't do him in, the bomb would certainly take care of that and Greg himself – unless he did something, _now_. 

Looking again at his friend, Greg finalized the plan he had been debating in his head.

"Nick!" he said quietly. Greg's voice sounded far away but he heard him none the less and looked up at him. "I've got a plan that'll finish this thing right now. All you have to do is when I break one of the windows, pretend that I'm escaping and that you're cheering me on, or something. Okay?" Nick looked at him steadily. He knew where he was going with this and didn't like the idea at all; he shouldn't be taking such a risk, not when he could just as easily walk out of there without further injury.

"You know you should try escaping for real," he whispered. At this Greg shook his head.

"Not going to happen," he said with a small smile. "You ready?" Staring at him for a moment longer, Nick finally nodded, carefully curling one leg in so that he was able to remove his running shoe and hand it over to Greg who took it with a confused expression on his face.

"The glass is probably thin enough for this to do the job," he explained. Greg's smile broadened a little.

"Thanks. Wish me luck." And with that he stood and moved beside the wall that housed the kitchen door after pulling the pillow off of the window in the wall across the room from where he stood. Raising his arm, he threw the shoe as hard as he could at the window, shattering the weatherworn glass easily. On cue, Nick started yelling with surprising volume, his tone more than convincing, almost as though he were actually envisioning Greg jumping out the broken window and running towards safety. Had _he_ been Forman, he would have no qualm believing that he was indeed making a run for it.

"Go Greg, go! Get out of here! Run!"

It worked. Forman raced out of the kitchen, gun drawn, heading towards the broken window, and as planned, Greg ran up behind him and drove his shoulder into the dead centre of Forman's back, sending him sprawling forward and the gun skittering away across the floor. Unfortunately, he recovered quickly and was able to dodge Greg's attempt to pin him and get in a hit of his own, square in the CSI's jaw. And yet the adrenaline and anger pumping through Greg's veins allowed him to once again gain the upper hand, landing him kneeling over Forman who was on his back, Greg's hands wrapped tightly around his neck.

This advantage was short-lived, however, and it wasn't long before Forman's struggling hands shot forward, jabbing Greg's broken ribs so that he emitted a scream of agony before falling to the ground, tears of pain begging to fall from his eyes.

Forman didn't hesitate. The second Greg's grip fell away, he shot up, his hands finding and compressing Greg's throat with a lot more strength than had been behind Greg's attack. As such, it took very little time before his struggles slowed and became fewer, black spots dancing in front his eyes as his vision started to blur…

"Let – him – go." Startled, Forman looked up, as did Greg. Somehow, Nick had found the strength to crawl over to where Forman's gun had been tossed and was now aiming it directly at him while slowly trying to stand on weak and shaking legs, his other hand pressed up against his stomach wound. And yet, despite his obvious difficulties, his eyes and face remained hard and uncompromising as he again spoke quietly. "I said let – him go." Haltingly, Forman released his hold and stood, backing slowly away leaving Greg laying gasping and coughing violently on the floor, the extra stress doing nothing for his already throbbing side. Eyes not leaving Forman's Nick staggered towards his friend, kneeling carefully down beside him as he spoke, his voice concerned.

"Greg, Greg how're you doing? Are you all right? Or at least mostly?" Greg managed a smile, one hand still gently massaging his bruising neck while he used the other to push himself up into a sitting position.

"Yeah, mostly," he rasped. "It's nothing a few descent pain killers and a good massage won't be able to handle." Momentarily satisfied, Nick focused his attention back on Forman, the look on his face clearly stating that he was done playing games, and quite ready for this to be over.

"Toss over the radio." An unnerving smile spread across his lips as he reached one hand into his pocket, pulling out and tossing the radio to Nick, his other hand on the done-up zipper of his oddly full-looking jacket.

"Maybe you should know what you're dealing with before you get our buddy Grissom on the line," he spat, and unzipped his jacket, pulling it open to reveal two rows of wired C-4, four blocks in each row. Tucked in the centre of the blocks was a digital timer, its numbers gradually counting down: they had three minutes let before it went off. It was then that Forman reached back into his pocket and pulled out a small trigger button, positioning his thumb over it. "There may be three minutes or so left on that timer, but I can very easily just push this button right here at any time." Great. Just great. With the amount of C-4 in his vest and the fact that there could be an unexpected early detonation, Forman could blow away not only the three of them but probably around half of the cops standing outside.

Before Nick could answer his threat with one of his own, Grissom's voice sounded over the radio.

"Forman? Forman, the transfer of the funds is fifty-percent complete. Maybe as a show of good faith, you could release one of the hostages to us now, and the second when the transfer is completed, perhaps the most injured of the two so that you're not faced with murder," he said simply, releasing the call button and waiting for a response. The attention of every unit was focused on the front door and guns were drawn, in case the man was desperate and came out firing. Grissom glanced down at his watch: they had a little less than three minutes before the bomb went off – he had to try to at least get one of them out of there.

Nick looked back up at Forman, trying to get his eyes to focus properly.

"Well, do you have an answer?" The man was silent for a moment before making up his mind.

"One of you can leave," he said gruffly. "It's your choice who, and you better choose fast." He fingered the button threateningly. Without hesitating, Nick raised the radio to his mouth.

"Griss?" Grissom was a little surprised to hear Nick answer, but chose not to question it for the moment.

"Yeah Nick?"

"Greg's coming out." Grissom shook his head sadly; he had hoped that Forman would release Nick first, particularly after what he had mentioned about murder charges, but knew now that Forman was bound and determined for somebody to die here today, and was trying to make that somebody Nick – and there was nothing he could do; he had to accept the one that he _could _get right then, and work on recovering the other later. However, before Grissom could acknowledge the decision and let the other officers know, he heard Greg object in the background, and his jaw dropped at the words he spoke.

"Nick, no! You have to get out of here! Give me the gun, _I'm_ staying!" It was a second before he found the voice to demand an explanation.

"Nick, Greg, what gun? What's going on it there? Where's Forman? Is he down?" Catherine, Warrick and Sara looked from him to the house, eyes wide and searching for some sign of what they all hoped to be true before Nick's voice returned, addressing first Grissom then Greg.

"I've got Forman's gun but Forman has his finger on the bomb's trigger, plus the timer. Greg, go now! We don't have time to argue! Go!" Even though there was an underlying weakness in his voice, he sounded overall desperate and pleading. "Please go! I promise I'll be out there soon, just go!" For a moment Greg remained frozen to the spot, staring back pleadingly at his friend and the one who had already saved his life several times that day, more recently while sporting a hole in his stomach.

Nick swayed dangerously and Greg moved to help him, but he shook his head.

"I'm fine. Just go, quick." Grissom and the others stood listening to the exchange, waiting anxiously for the final decision only to hear the silence stretch on. What was going on? Who was coming out? When? Were they coming out at all?

They got their answer when they heard the house's front door bang open and they looked up to see Greg stumbling down the porch stairs, taking a few more steps towards them before collapsing to the ground, falling still.

The last thing he wanted to do right then was move. On second thought, he doubted that he ever wanted to move again. He could live right there, lay right where he was until he collected cobwebs for all he cared – just as long as he didn't have to move.

He only came back to reality when he heard a familiar voice scream his name, and he remembered where he was and what was going on: the bomb… the bomb was going to go off soon… Nick was still inside…

"Greg!" Immediately following her scream, Sara ran out from behind their line of cars, falling to her knees beside Greg and turning him over, because of which he screamed in pain, his hand going to his ribs. Not a second later, the other three were with them, accompanied by two patrolmen. Grissom wanted nothing more than to get him a safe distance away from the house.

"We have to move him! Now!" Grissom yelled. "Careful of his ribs!" Working together, their group managed to lift him bodily off of the ground and hustle him to the ground behind their car, lowering him slowly, carefully back down. Once there, Grissom removed his jacket and bundled it into a makeshift pillow that he placed under Greg's head. The small group couldn't help but wince at the sight of the angry red and brown, hand-shaped bruises on his neck that attested to Forman's attempt to strangle him. Sara however smiled happily through her relief, taking his hand in hers.

"You're safe now. It's going to be okay. The ambulances will be here in a minute," she said, only now beginning to believe it herself: it was finally almost over.

Greg could only shake his head, fighting off the sudden and appealing desire to drift into unconsciousness in order to make himself perfectly clear on a certain matter. He swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat so that he could speak clearly.

"I'm not…going…anywhere…'till Nick gets…out," he said haltingly between stabs of pain.

Before anyone could convince him otherwise, a single shot was fired inside followed immediately by a scream, then silence. Greg's eyes widened as he sat still for a moment, straining to hear another sound, having been unable to tell if the scream had been Nick's. When the silence continued, he decided he couldn't take this anymore, and moreover wasn't going to sit there and take it lying down. Managing to struggle to his feet and push past them, Greg quickly staggered towards a space between the cars.

"Nick!"

* * *

Nick let loose a little of the breath that he had been holding when he heard the front door open then close again behind Greg. His promise had been kept – Greg was going to live.

With his relief came a fresh bout of the exhaustion he'd been pushing away that refused to be ignored any longer. Careful to keep the gun-holding hand aimed at Forman, he let himself fall to his knees. Forman laughed.

"Getting a little woozy, are we?" His lack of energy did nothing to take away from the snap of his tone.

"Yeah, getting shot'll do that to you." He paused and for a long moment, there was silence between them, each staring down the other, before Nick finally spoke again. "You don't have to do this," he said softly. "If you turn that thing off right now and walk out of here with me, I promise I'll get your sentence reduced." Forman shook his head.

"I can't do that." He sounded almost regretful.

"Then what do you expect to do?" Nick asked. "There's no way that you can escape this." Forman nodded slowly.

"I know," he said, all regret gone from his voice. "But I look at it this way: when I press this button, at least I'll get to take one of you with me." His thumb moved to the button.

And without even really thinking about it, Nick pulled the trigger firing a single shot, the bullet hitting Forman's hand and obliterating the trigger button. The man screamed and fell to his knees, grasping his hand at the wrist. It was at that moment that Nick noticed the numbers on the bomb's timer – 0:10…0:09…0:08…

Panic seized him and he shot to his feet, tossing away the gun and keeping one hand over his gunshot wound as he tripped and stumbled towards the door – _he_ _had to get out_. It didn't help that the world seemed to swim before him or that he could hardly feel his legs as he grasped the handle and whipped it open, stepping out into the bright afternoon light and starting towards then down the stairs, painstakingly slowly.

"Nick!" Greg called out again upon seeing him, this time from relief at seeing him alive, and without further hurt, but also out of warning: _the bomb_; he was too close, much too close… Not being able to run forward because of several pairs of hands holding him back, he called out again. "The bomb! You've got to hurry!" Nick looked up to find Greg looking at him desperately as he made for the second last step. His foot never touched it.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion went off behind him, sending him flying forwards through the air. The force of the landing knocked all of the breath out of his body as debris from the house landed on and around him and his vision went black.

_TBC..._


	10. Wake Up

**A/N: **sorry i broke my update-per-day streak - i just finished my exams yesterday and so was out all night all friends to celebrate!lol but, i have returned, and have brought with me a new chappy - i hope you like it:)

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Wake Up**

One by one, each of the police officers and CSI's emerged from behind their cars where they had taken cover, their ears still ringing and eyes stinging from the magnitude of the explosion and the dust and dirt that it left in the air. Still partially in shock, they stared blankly at where the house had once stood, where a mangled mess now resided, anything one foot higher than the ground having been launched outwards in a circle around it.

It was because of their disorientation that it was a moment before they noticed that neither Greg nor Nick were among the standing. Whipping her head in every direction, Sara at last looked to the ground and found that Greg lay unconscious by their feet, another nasty cut and bruise on the side of his face, the block of wood the must have caused it sitting on the ground beside his head. She dropped to her knees beside him, and was relieved to see that though the rising and falling of his chest was shaky, the obvious reason being his ribs, they were constant and unfailing, allowing her at least that little bit of comfort.

Nick however was nowhere in sight. Catherine was looking desperately around the cars' immediate surroundings, calling out to him.

"Nick! Nick!" She riffled through a pile of debris before a strangled sob slipped out and she nearly fell over again, Warrick catching her, having learned to stay close at hand.

"Whoa! Easy Cath, easy, it's going to be okay. Okay?" he whispered soothingly, hugging her tightly. "We'll find him, don't you worry. Right Griss?" He looked around for Grissom, hoping for him to back up his statement, only to find him leaning heavily on the hood of a car, staring hopelessly at the disaster zone in front of him.

Nick was in there… was buried in there… he'd been right there, almost home free… buried… buried again…

"Griss!" He yelled his name this time, causing Grissom to jerk, blink, and stare up at him as his head slowly started to clear up a little, starting to focus on his impeccable problem solving skills that his high-school teachers had always credited to him. He nodded his acknowledgment to Warrick and walked quickly over to where Sara still sat beside Greg.

"How is he?" he asked tentatively, staring cautiously down at his unmoving form. She looked up at him, meekly attempting a smile.

"Well, he's still breathing, and from what I can tell, it was a flying block that took him down," she said, holding up the piece of wood she had noticed before. Taking it, Grissom muttered something incoherently and tossed it aside. Before she could ask what he had said, he was straightening up and offering his hand down to her, which she just stared at.

"We need all the help we can to find Nick," he explained quietly. Her eyes widened.

"He's buried isn't he?" she whispered, staring up at him. He winced at the choice of words and pushed aside his thoughts from before with a jerking nod, giving a brief pull as she took hold of his arm and stood on shaking legs. About to follow Grissom to the centre of the patrolmen, she stopped, looking uncertainly back down at Greg – she really would feel better if he weren't left alone, but there was no way that she would say no to helping in the search for Nick…

"Officer!" Sara called to the nearest patrolman who hurried over. "Put something under this man's head and wait with him until the ambulance arrives," she said quickly, indicating Greg. The man nodded, immediately unlocking the trunk of his car and pulling out a blanket, and Sara returned the nod, satisfied, as she hurried off after Grissom.

"Listen up!" he called to the others, waiting until they had gathered around him to speak. "The other CSI involved, Nick Stokes, is buried somewhere in the wreckage and is gravely injured." He felt the bile rise in his throat but forced it down, forcing himself to come off as calm, cool, and in control. "I want everyone to spread out along the perimeter of debris and start searching through the piles moving towards the centre. Be careful where you step and call if you find him." He cast one last glance at Greg who was still unconscious, before turning his tired eyes on the rubble, trying not to picture the state they might find Nick in. "Let's go!"

* * *

In his mind's eye, Nick was replaying the events of the day, once more being dragged out of the van, trying to defend Greg time and again, only this time round his every attempt failed, and the damage inflicted on them both worsened until he felt he was going to be sick. He wanted to do something, tried over and over to make it stop, but he found he couldn't move; it was as though he was pinned under an incredible, yet invisible weight, having no choice but to just sit there and watch it all happen. 

_I'm sorry Greg_

Suddenly, he was lying on the wooden floor of the attic again, Greg lying beside him, dying… dying because he had been to weak to prevent it. He slowly extended his arm, reaching his hand forward to try and take hold of his friend's in an effort to comfort but also to ask for forgiveness, forgiveness for not keeping his promise, for not being strong when it was needed the most, forgiveness for letting him down… but a large black boot came down painfully on his hand and he cried out, but made not a sound, as he watched Greg slip away.

_I'm so sorry…_

* * *

"Officer! Lift you foot! Now!" yelled Catherine frantically, her breaths hitching in her throat as she stared at what was under his black boot. "You're stepping on a hand!" The startled young man jumped to the side and those that had run over to them saw that sure enough, there was a hand and arm sticking out from under a large pile of debris – an arm wearing a shirt fabric bandage. 

"It's Nick! We gotta get this stuff off of him!" Warrick yelled, though he hardly needed to say it for everyone was already tossing aside bricks and planks of all sizes while calling out to Nick, hoping against hope that he was alive to hear them.

* * *

He was back in the van now, only this time he was alone and it was quiet, no sound of its engine roaring or of the wheels running through pot-holes and over rocks. He was struggling to free himself from his bonds but it seemed that the harder he struggled, the tighter they became. Fortunately, the invisible weight holding him down seemed to be lessening gradually as time progressed, but nevertheless, that didn't do anything to help his current situation; he was still stuck there, still trapped in that hated van, and his hands were still tied in front of him, the bonds seemingly unable to be worn down or shredded in any way, shape, or form. 

He stopped struggling abruptly – had someone just called his name? He kept as silent as he could, straining to hear it again, if it was indeed there…

There it was again! He was sure of it this time: someone was close to the van and was calling to him! He held his breath and continued to listen, suddenly realizing that there were now several voice calling his name, each in turn, and now that he thought about it, he was sure he could identify at least four of them: Grissom, Catherine, Sara, and Warrick. He couldn't imagine how they had managed to track him down, but at this point he didn't care. He was about to be rescued! This nightmare would finally be over, and he could go home and sleep for three days in his own bed and forget that this ever happened.

Then, just as suddenly as they had started, they stopped, his heart almost following suit: they must not know exactly where he was and moved on to somewhere else to look.

He started to panic, wanted to cry in exasperation but was too tired; they were leaving him _again._ Again he would be so completely and hopelessly alone in this dark space, with nothing to do but make a weak attempt to break unbreakable ties. He tried to call out to them, to let them know where he was and that he was still alive, but no sound came out. It was as though a rag had been shoved down his throat.

His numb fingers struggled blindly to pull back the tape that wasn't over his mouth, to untie the gag that wasn't there, _anything_ so that he could break the shroud of darkness and silence and get back to his friends, his job, his _life_.

* * *

"There he is! We've got him!" Catherine called excitedly upon uncovering the rest of his upper body. As could only be expected, he was unconscious and had received a fresh batch of small cuts and bruises all over his arms and face, and probably everywhere else. However, seeing for the first time up front the seriousness of the gunshot wound to his stomach made them all cringe as they fought down panic in order to unbury the rest of his legs and transport him back behind the cars, at the opposite end of the line where Greg still lay. Grissom checked his neck for a pulse. 

"He's alive," he reported. "But his pulse is pretty weak. How long until the ambulances get here?" Warrick checked his watch.

"About five minutes, give or take." Nodding, Grissom grabbed Brass' keys from him and unlocked the trunk of his car, pulling out a blanket and getting help in wrapping it around Nick at the same time that Catherine surrendered her jack to cushion his head and Sara and Warrick used theirs to try and stop the bleeding on both the entry and exit wounds.

Sitting back and looking at him, Catherine was amazed that he was still alive after everything that had happened. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't bled to death in that house, or had been completely crushed in the aftermath of the explosion. Now all he had to do was hold on long enough for help to arrive – that should be the easiest part of his day… shouldn't it?

At that moment they heard shouts and looked up to see Greg stumbling towards them, tripping and almost falling every few feet or so while the officer that had been waiting with him followed close behind, trying in vain to replace the blanket around his shoulders and to get him to sit back down.

His head was swimming and the side of his face throbbed in unison with his ribs, but he didn't really care – it was _over_. The bomb had gone off, Forman was dead… but what happened to Nick? Where was he? He remembered trying to run forward to help him, he was clearly having a hard time with the stairs, but he couldn't remember what had happened to Nick when suddenly a piece of wood had come flying at him and everything went black… hence the throb that now made keeping his eyes open against such bright sunlight an entirely unpleasant experience.

"Where's Nick?" he called to them, not seeming to notice the man following him as he hurried as fast as his still unsteady legs would carry him towards their group. However, when he reached them and saw who lay at the centre of their circle, he stopped dead and fell once more to his knees, eventually grasping Nick's hand in his own shaking one. He stared down, unable or perhaps unwilling to believe that Nick was going to die here on the ground, after having held out through everything else that had been thrown at them, after promising that _both_ of them were going to make it out of there, after promising that he would be coming outside right after him, that he'd be fine on his own. He had wanted to believe him and knew now that he shouldn't have, that he should've known that he was needed by his friend who had already done more for him than he'd ever want to ask.

"Nick… I shouldn't have left," he whispered. He wanted to speak words of comfort, something to let him know that everything was fine, but his thoughts were so muddled together he found he could only stare at Nick's still face. "Wake up Nick, please," he begged, gripping his hand with both of his now. "We're safe now. We're safe. Don't leave – wake up."

* * *

The voices outside had long since stopped calling to him and he had long since ceased his efforts to call out to them or to free himself. What was the point? Greg was _dead_ because of him, and now the ones who had been supposed to rescue him, take him home away from this hell, had gone as well. Now he simply sat in that van not knowing what to do next except to simply give up, to finally fall asleep and block out the world, for a time at least. 

When he heard a lone voice call his name again, he was too tired to get his hopes up once more. He just wanted to sleep. He _was_ tired enough and the silence egged him on…

However, it was then that the van's door unlocked and swung open, the result being that he sat there stock still and blinded by the surprisingly bright light that poured in. Again, the same voice called to him, but this time followed by other words that he couldn't really make out. Hesitating for a second, he crawled over to the open door, still unable to see through the light as the voice sounded out again and his heart nearly stopped, his eyes widening in disbelief: the voice was Greg's – Greg was _alive_ and calling to him. Without a second's more delay, he jumped out of the van, and was swallowed by the light.

* * *

"He's coming to!" Grissom said suddenly, and everyone re-emerged from their thoughts, looking down at Nick anxiously. At first all he did was moan quietly as his head lolled to one side, but then slowly, very gradually, his eyes eased open, settling first on Warrick who was sitting right in his line of sight and who smiled at him in relief. 

"Hey Nick. Welcome back." For a moment Nick couldn't speak as he tired to collect his thoughts, to separate his nightmares from what had actually taken place a few minutes ago: he had been in the van… no, no he had been in the house… he had been on the main floor with Forman… Greg had left… the bomb… the bomb had gone off… The last thing he could remember clearly was his feet leaving the hard surface of the stairs.

"What happened after the bomb went off?" he asked quietly. It was Grissom who answered, Nick looking up at him as he spoke.

"You were blown forward and landed about ten feet in front of our cars," he responded, his voice just as quiet though by choice. "We had to dig you out of the debris." All Nick could do was stare at him blankly for a second before he remembered something else: Greg – Greg had been trying to go to him, had just managed to shake the restraining hands off and had started forwards when the bomb went off…

"Where's Greg?" he asked suddenly, his eyes wide. Unexpectedly he shot up into a sitting position but quickly doubled-up with a weak cry of pain, his hand moving to his stomach, and Greg, whose voice had thus-far evaded him, lunged forward, easing him back down while trying but failing to ignore his ribs' protests.

"I'm right here," he rasped with a grimace. "Thanks to you of course." Nick didn't miss the reactions and looked up at him. Greg was startled and shocked to see the guilt layering his eyes.

"I'm sorry Greg," he whispered. Greg stared back at him more confused than anything, and after a moment Nick's gaze lowered to the ground.

"Sorry for what?" He looked back up at him, his expression sad.

"I promised that I'd protect you, that I wouldn't let anything happen to you, no matter what. You don't need me to be the one to point out that I've completely broken that promise." Greg gave him an incredulous look.

"I can't believe you'd actually blame yourself for everything that happened in there." He took hold of one of Nick's hands in both of his once more. "You're not the reason I'm hurt; you're the reason I'm still around to complain about it," he joked, though his cracking voice dampened the attempted stab at humour. "If anything, get mad at yourself about not keeping your other promise." Now it was Nick's turn to look confused and Greg sighed, slightly frustrated. "You said you'd be right after me. Instead you almost got yourself killed – again." He gave a brief laugh, swiping away a few stray tears. "You've really had a knack for that sort of thing today, man." Sara put her hand lightly on Nick's uninjured arm.

"You got him out of there alive," she said, unable to find the right words for her personal gratitude. Greg was right: if it hadn't have been for Nick, she would be watching them unload a body bag back at the morgue this afternoon. Catherine took hold of his other hand.

"We're all very proud of you Nick," she said truthfully, mirroring Greg's swipe at her own eyes. He looked up at her and gave her a weak but charming smile that she couldn't help but return a little shakily, though the last thing she felt like doing right then was smiling.

Off in the distance, they could hear ambulance sirens rapidly growing closer to their location, of which all were infinitely relieved. Nick's skin was taking on a greyish tinge and his hands were cold. Greg broke the unbearable silence, his voice cracking once more.

"It's _me_ that should be apologizing Nick. I should have been able to look after myself in there; I should never have given you the chance to end up like this." He gazed down at him, not caring that he was crying, even though he wasn't the only one. "I – I'm so sorry." The sirens were much closer now, weaving in between the buildings at full speed, though to the waiting group, they couldn't have been going fast enough.

They saw now that Nick's breaths had shortened to small faltering gasps that could just barely be heard above the sound of the approaching ambulances, but still he smiled up at Greg.

"What're friends for?"

Slowly, his eyes closed and his smile faded, the sirens being the only remaining sound.

* * *

**A/N:** please don't kill me for this and remember that the sooner i get reviews, the sooner the post the next ready chapter:) 


	11. Hold On

**A/N:** okay, i admit that i feel just a _teeny_ bit bad about leaving you guys hanging like that on the last chapter, but what can i say: i just can't seem to help myself!lol okay, so here it is: chapter 11 --- (a part of this next chappy goes out espeically to **sherryw **because of the review given by her for one of the recent chapters that inspired the idea for one of the more minor characters that comes in in this chapter- sherryw, you'll probably know which review i'm talking about once you read the special inclusion!)lol i hope you like it:):):) --- cause there's more to come!(hinthint)

* * *

**Chapter 11 – Hold On**

For a second, Greg couldn't speak, didn't know how to react; he could only stare open-mouthed at Nick's still face. It was only when the ambulances arrived and he was made to move so that the paramedics could work that the terrifying truth hit him full force.

"Nick – Nick!" Sara and Grissom tried to steer him towards the stretcher from the second ambulance, but he resisted, with surprising strength considering his injuries. "Get off me! I'm not going anywhere! Nick!" He tried to pull himself out of their grasps, tried to move back towards Nick; he had to be there for him, had to convince him that he couldn't let himself die like this, that he had to hold on, to fight for himself just a little longer…

The female paramedic felt his neck for a pulse.

"Get the crash cart!" she shouted to the man, who did as asked while she quickly cut away Nick's shirt to get to bare skin. The defib-paddles charged, she rubbed them together. "Clear!" She pressed them to his chest, the charge causing Nick's upper-torso to rise briefly off the ground._ We're going to make it out of this. _

Again the medic felt for a pulse, but shook her head.

"Recharging…clear!" The effect of the second attempt was much the same as the first, and Greg pushed past Grissom, one hand clutching his side as he walked closer, tears starting to pour down his face.

"Common Nick," he choked. "Please…please…

_I promise._

"Okay, one more time – clear!" The strength of the charge caused Nick's chest to jerk higher into the air than both previous attempts combined, but this time there were rewarded with relief. "We've got a pulse! Let's get him in the back!" As they started to load Nick quickly onto the stretcher and move him towards the ambulance, Catherine right beside them, Greg moved to join her, but Grissom took a firm hold of his arm. He tried to pull away, but Grissom refused to let go.

"Griss, common, let go. I'm going with him to the hospital," he sobbed, pulling harder.

He wasn't sure what to do; Greg obviously needed to bet taken care of but he didn't even seem to realize it, and he couldn't _force_ Greg onto the stretcher without seriously hurting him. He decided it was best to stick to words.

"Yeah, you're definitely going to the hospital, but on a stretcher Greg." He tried again to help the paramedics from the second ambulance to usher him to the stretcher, but Greg pulled away again, only for his vision to blur with another stab in his ribs. Crying out, he fell to his knees, making no move to get to Nick but at the same time showing no intention of returning to where the stretcher waited. Sara knelt down beside him, taking him gently by the arm while trying to get him to look at her.

"There's nothing more you can do for him Greg, except to get yourself taken care of," she whispered. He knew she was right but wished she wasn't – the last thing he wanted to do was to take a joy ride on a stretcher – he wanted to be there for Nick, but again, he knew she was right; there was absolutely nothing he could do. His eyes met hers and he could see the truth of her words written there as well, and he sighed, a deep, tired sigh of resignation that she hated hearing but chose not to comment on.

He finally relented, allowing himself to be helped onto the stretcher and loaded into the back of the second ambulance with Sara and one medic who proceeded to insert an I-V line into his hand before laying a blanket over him and strapping him in, loosely of course so as not to cause his ribs any more pain.

In a second, there were off and speeding to the hospital behind Nick and Catherine, Sara taking a firm hold of the hand closest to her while the medic took a look at the bullet-graze on his leg. Greg had closed his eyes as if in sleep, but Sara had a feeling that it would be a while before he did anything of the sort. She stared sadly at him, wondering how long it would be before he would truly be able to feel at ease, to be able to put this day behind him, if he could at all…

She shook that thought out of her head and closed her eyes, holding Greg's hand to the side of her face. She would help him to get over this, she would do it if she had to go without rest for a month; Greg needed her, and she wasn't going to let him down.

Greg had been looking up at her in silence for a long time, practically able to see what she was thinking as she sat there with her eyes closed, his hand clutched in hers, her brow furrowed. He suddenly remembered something that he'd been meaning to say and that he didn't want to put off any longer, not after what had just happened. Quietly due to his aching throat, he got her attention.

"Hey Sara?" Her eyes suddenly opened and she quickly turned her gaze back to his face, which gave off an air of determination.

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?" Sara smiled. After everything that had happened, he was going to be all right, call it a hunch. She gripped his hand tighter with both of hers.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Before the doors had even closed, Catherine was sitting on the bench at Nick's side, grasping his hand while speaking quietly. 

"It's going to be okay Nicki. You're going to be okay. We're on our way to the hospital – all you gotta do now is hold on, okay? Just stay with me, stay with me." She didn't know how long they'd been driving when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see the woman paramedic looking at her steadily.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" she asked, her eyes soft but her tone mildly concerned. For a second Catherine only stared at her, blinking rapidly as though just realizing that she was not alone in the ambulance.

"W-What do you mean?" she stumbled. The woman moved closer to her.

"Ma'am, you're hyperventilating," she said slowly, placing her other hand on the other shoulder. "I need you to calm down and take deep breaths."

For the first time, Catherine noticed how dry her throat had become, her head beginning to feel fuzzy as she willed herself to calm down, unsure if it was working considering she hadn't noticed anything wrong in the first place. Apparently it hadn't worked because now the woman had pulled Nick's hand out of hers and had taken both of her hands in her own, forcing Catherine's body to turn though her eyes never left Nick.

"What's your name?" She started, having once again forgotten the she was not alone back there, all her attention having been focussed on the slow rhythm of the lines on the heart monitor, on the reassuring rising and falling of Nick's chest. She stumbled to answer, still not looking away.

"C-Catherine." He looked so peaceful – had it not been for the countless cuts, bruises and bloody gauze on his arm and side, it would seem as though he were merely asleep, not near death, not having just died for a few minutes…

"My name's Sheryl," she said calmly. "Catherine – Catherine, look at me. I need you to look at me," she insisted, and Catherine's gaze swung around to meet hers. "That's good – now, look me in the eye, right _here_, and focus on taking a deep breath in through your nose, and exhale through your mouth – can you do that for me?" Catherine nodded stiffly and Sheryl smiled encouragingly. "Good. Okay, ready? Deep breath in – " Sheryl took a deep breath and Catherine did her best to follow suit. " – and exhale," she said before letting the breath leave through her mouth, watching patiently as the CSI did the same. "Good; now another – deep breath in… and exhale; very good."

Slowly Catherine felt her head clear and could feel her muscles relaxing a little as she continued for a few more minutes to breathe in and out deeply, at last returning Sheryl's small smile.

"Now I know you're scared Catherine, but right now Nick's condition is stable – our biggest worry was slowing the blood-loss, which we've already done, meaning that for now, he's just fine." She paused, her eyes scanning over Catherine's face. "Hm, you on the other hand have a few scratches that could use some cleaning," she said, starting to pull her hands away. At the movement, Catherine suddenly emitted a small cry, her breaths becoming shaky as she grimaced. Sheryl's eyes shot to the woman's hands and she lifted them up with her own, her gaze scouring her fingers before finally stopping on the left index. She looked back up at Catherine who looked at best exasperated. "And from what I can tell, your finger could stand to be immobilized, at least until we can get an X-ray on it," she said reassuringly as she taped it to a splint before breaking out cotton swabs, disinfectant, and a few small Band-Aids.

The rest of the ride back to town passed fairly quickly, Sheryl making small talk to keep Catherine calm, Catherine answering back as much as possible, her eyes, despite Sheryl's reassurances, never leaving the heart monitor.

* * *

It was dark outside by the time the four healthy CSI's along with Brass were finally able to sit down in the hospital waiting room, having just finished filling out hospital admission and treatment paperwork and grabbing a cup of coffee a piece from the cafeteria upstairs. Greg's parents had arrived shortly thereafter, having been notified by Grissom from the nurses' station phone and wasted no time in speeding over, practically leaving their police escort behind in the dust that the wheels of their BMW kicked up. Grissom had also called Nick's parents, though they had a bit further to travel and would therefore be arriving somewhat later, having given Grissom permission through the nurses to be kept updated on Nick's progress in their stead. 

At the moment, they were all silent and listening when Grissom asked Catherine about Nick's condition.

"Well, he did fine all the way here, but flat-lined again in surgery, or so I'm told," she said meekly, staring blankly at her cup. "He's been done for a little over half-an hour now." Sara, who had sat next to her, rubbed her eyes with her free hand, glad that Greg wasn't here to hear this – the last thing he needed in his condition was to get worked up again. Nodding, Grissom then turned to Sara.

"So how's Greg?" Her reaction to the question was much the same as Catherine's as she answered, uncomfortably aware of the anxious stares of Paul and Maria a few chairs away from her. She took a small sip of the over-caffinated sludge in an attempt to calm her nerves a little before speaking.

"He's got four broken ribs, a concussion, a bullet-grazed leg, a badly bruising throat, rope-burned and cut wrists, and several other cuts…" She looked up at Grissom. "To answer your question: not too bad, considering what him and Nick have been through today." Each of them, even his parents, smiled slightly: they _had_ been somewhat lucky – at least in the sense that they were still alive, breathing, and in one piece.

At that moment, a female doctor entered the waiting room.

"I'm Dr. Collins. Are you the kin of Nick Stokes?" Grissom stood as he answered.

"Nick's parents are going to be coming in from Texas, so we're filling in until they get here. How is he?"

"Well, Mr. Stokes has come out of surgery and has been moved to the ICU as a precaution against post-surgery complications, though he is expected to make a full recovery. Now, he still hasn't woken up, most likely due to the large amount of blood-loss as well as the severity of the gunshot wound, but at this point all we can do is wait." Though nervous about his current condition, they all breathed deep in relief: he _was_ going to be all right.

"Kin of Greg Sanders?" Greg's parents stood up from their chairs, holding onto each other for support.

"We're his parents," Paul finally managed to say. Dr. Collins smiled.

"Greg is going to be just fine. He did however sustain four broken ribs, a minor concussion, several cuts and bruises, and slight damage to his windpipe, but has regained consciousness and is on his way to full recovery." She looked at each of them in the room. "Now as I understand it, the both of them are in some type of law enforcement, and as such are going to have to be on a lengthy leave after they are discharged from the hospital, then restricted duty to avoid any accidents with only partly healed injuries. Understood?" Everyone present nodded and she smiled again. "I'm glad to see that _you_ are cooperative – Mr. Sanders was quite adamant about the idea of being back in the field in no more than two weeks." Grissom, Sara, and even his parents smiled, Warrick not quite stifling a snort – that was Greg for you. Dr. Collins continued. "Mr. Stokes is in room 142 and is only allowed one person in his room at a time, but I'm confidant that we'll be able to transfer him to the general ward later on tonight. Mr. and Mrs. Sanders, Greg is still being treated in room 120, but feel free to keep him company. He also asked for someone named Sara Sidle." She waited until Sara slowly stood.

"That's me," she said quietly. Dr. Collins nodded.

"You may accompany the Sanders – Greg's been asking to see you since he regained consciousness." The others couldn't help but smile as Sara blushed and left the room with Greg's parents, looking back at them before she closed the door.

"If Nick wakes up, tell him I'll be down to see him in a little while."

"We'll let him know," Grissom responded, still smiling.

And with that, she left them to walk to Nick's room alone, Warrick being the first to go in, taking a seat beside his bed as Grissom closed the door and sat down next to Catherine who was leaning forward in her chair, her fingers fiddling idly as she stared at nothing in particular. Just as he was about to close his eyes however, something about Catherine's hands caught his eye and he leaned forward a little to get a better look before staring in surprise at her left index finger. It was a second before she felt him looking at her and glanced at his face, following his gaze to her left hand and sighing at her finger, which was taped securely into a brace with medical tape.

"What happened?" he asked with concern. Catherine sighed again.

"Found out in the ambulance that I had a broken finger, probably from when we were digging Nick out," she said nonchalantly. "They X-rayed it when I got here and are going to set it properly in about an hour, but Sheryl taped it up for me en route before she cleaned up my face too." She indicated the few Band-Aids dotting the edge of her face and cheek.

"Who's Sheryl?" he asked curiously.

"The paramedic that saved Nick's life." At this Grissom remained silent, both of them picturing the act in their heads, neither one grateful for the memory though incredibly grateful for the one who had given it a happy ending.

For a while, neither of them spoke, both content to simply sit and listen to the bustle of people working around them and to enjoy each other's company, letting the fact that the nightmare had ended seep through them, finally allowing them to breath easy.

Both of them looked up as Nick's door opened and Warrick stepped out.

"Who's up next?" he asked, holding the door to Nick's room open. Grissom looked over at Catherine who seemed to get his question through the look on his face.

"Go on in Gil," she said with a smile. "He'll be happy to hear your voice – he's probably already tired of mine from the ride in." She chuckled at her own comment and he smiled in thanks before giving his seat to Warrick, taking a deep breath, and entering the room.

* * *

**A/N:** i was going to finish it all up in this chapter, but 1) it would've been a little long, and 2) i like my stories to have an even number of chapters!lol- so review away, cause i'm pretty sure that the next chapter is gonna be the last of this little tale:):) 


	12. The Nightmare Has Come and Gone

**A/N:** hey there loyal readers! i know it's been a while since i've updated, but frankly, this was the hardest chapter to write and ended up being the longest of them all, so can you really blame me? yup, so here it is gang: the last chapter. i've had the most fun **_ever_** writting this story and reading all of your reviews, so i hope that the conclusion meets any and all expectations - and also, stay tuned for the summary of the up and comming sort of lead-off of 'no time for mistakes', which will be included at the end of this chapter. so, what are you waiting for? read, review, and enjoy, it's been fun:):):):)

(p.s: a special part of this goes out to sherryw: sorry for the wait - i hope what follows makes up for it:):)! )

* * *

**Chapter 12 - The Nightmare Has Come and Gone**

Greg sighed in tired relief as the nurses and doctors finally left his room, throwing it into a distantly remembered silence. He would have liked to finally be able to take a long, deep breath, but just because he was in the hospital, the entire mess finally over, didn't mean that everything was going to be fine again, at least not right away – and that included broken bones miraculously being mended, which his ribs most certainly were not. Along with the silence came what he had been dreading most: the time to think about what had transpired over a mere six hours.

He turned his face away from the door to his room, gazing numbly out his window and wishing feverently that the pain meds he had been put on had been enough to put him in a thoughtless daze, one in which he would not replay moments like the ransom video tapping in his head; one where he wouldn't have to watch Nick constantly put himself in harm's way, all for nothing, until his efforts finally caused his heart to stop – one in which he wouldn't recall how deeply and completely he had failed his friend.

His eyes began to sting once more and the lump that had formed in his throat made breathing even more difficult;Greg could've stopped it, somehow, but he didn't – Nick had died, even if just for a moment, because _he_ hadn't been strong enough. For all he knew, Nick had died en route to the hospital or in surgery and had not been as lucky as before…

All of his fear and emotional turmoil came crashing down on him at once in one swift blow, and he couldn't hold it in any longer. He let loose one gut-wrenching sob that echoed off the walls of his room, launching back to his assault his ears as he felt the pillowcase quickly grow wet next to his face. His body trembled and shook, his hand instinctively pressing gently up against his protesting ribs as he half-heartedly struggled for control, his eyes screwed shut in a failed attempt to stem the flow of his tears.

It was because of this and the other distractions that he didn't even notice the person that had rushed to the chair positioned near his head; he was caught up in the hurricane that was his thoughts, able only to weep and wish that it was over. However, when he suddenly felt gentle hands on his bare shoulders and a soft voice calling to him, he instantly knew who was with him, and pushed himself into her embrace, all but curling up against her as she slowly rocked him back and forth, muttering reassurances that he was going to be alright, that he was safe now, that she was there for him.

* * *

Sara's hand had just been reaching for the doorknob to Greg's room when she heard it: a cry of such utter sadness and despair that it made her weak in the knees just to hear it. She exchanged a quick worried look with the Sanders, their eyes urging her to open the door. Hardly needing to be convinced, she quickly but quietly turned the metal knob and swung the door inwards, only to momentarily freeze at the sight before her. Lying in his hospital bed, Greg's head was turned away from them as tremors raced through him, the sound of his sobs filling the room to unbearable heights. 

Without a second thought she rushed forward to seat herself in the chair that blocked his view of the window, noting sadly that he didn't even notice her as he cried. With semi cautiousness, she placed her hands gently on his shoulders, not failing to notice the tenser bandage wrapped tightly around his middle before she focussed on his face.

"Greg? Greg, can you hear me? Greg talk to me," she said, surprised at the sturdiness of her voice when the sight of the man made her want to break down in tears herself. She had never, _ever_ seen Greg even remotely close to the state he was in at that moment. Truth be told, if someone had told her yesterday that he would be like this, or even that morning, she would have shaken her head with a laugh, saying that they obviously didn't know Greg very well. The Greg she knew was always upbeat, always joking around, always optimistic, never really down. And yet here he was, hardly able to breath for the anguish that had enveloped him, his body trembling uncontrollably under her hands. She swallowed hard, looking up at his parents who had gone over to his other side, the expressions on their faces ones of matching anxiety and sadness, unsure of how to confront what was happening.

She was even more surprised when without uttering a single word or even opening his eyes, Greg suddenly pushed himself closer to her, pressing his face into her shirt at collarbone level while his shaking hands gripped her arm tightly. Knowing that it was what he needed, and most of all what she longed to do, she held him tightly letting his tears soak her T-shirt while her own soaked his already matted hair.

"It's alright Greg, I'm here now. We're all here for you. It's going to be alright." Still not opening his eyes, he just barely managed to choke out the question that he feared most to ask, but couldn't bear to wait any longer to do so.

"Is – is Nick…alive?" He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke the three best words in the English language.

"Yes, he is." He gripped her arm a little tighter, but if it was starting to hurt she never said a thing about it. She only hugged him tighter, making him ever more thankful that he had someone like Sara, and eventually the rest of the team, to be there for him, someone to bring him peace after the storm.

His trembling subsided a little, and as he sat there and let it all out, he let her continuing words of comfort wash over him, each one filling him with a calmness that he hadn't thought was ever going to be possible again. However, there was another very much recognizable voice ringing in his head, one that disrupted the calmness with, despite Sara's reassurances, a not so small wave of sadness with the words it had spoken less than an hour ago in something that could barely be called a whisper for all the volume it held, though it's message was one he would never forget as long as he lived.

_What are friends for?_

* * *

Taking one last glance at Catherine and Warrick, Grissom stepped inside the dimly lit room, gently shutting the door behind him before turning towards the bed that was up against the wall to his right. Though he had spent the past hour preparing himself for what he would see and reminding himself constantly that Nick _was_ going to be okay, he found that his muscles froze and his knees locked in place as he stared open-mouthed at the shell known as Nick. 

Though he wasn't nearly as pale as when he had been resuscitated and the awful stillness of his chest had been replaced by a reassuring and steady rise and fall, the stillness of his limbs, the lax yet pained expression on his face and the layers of bandages gave the impression that he was just barely clinging to the threads of life. He did everything short of using his hands to move his legs forward until he finally managed to shuffle over to the empty chair on Nick's left hand side, falling stiffly onto the slightly padded surface with a small grunt. It was another minute or so before he could bring himself to raise his eyes from his hands to the edge of the bed, from there to Nick's bandaged arm, and finally, from the arm to his face which was drawn and haggard, a sharp contrast to the face he had seen just that morning.

Careful not to pull out the I-V's and blood transfusion tubes leading to various places in his hand and arm, Grissom gently took hold of the hand closest to him, holding onto to it partly for comfort but mostly for subconscious reassurance that his fingers were still warm and had not gone cold and clammy like they would have if Nick had –

His grim thoughts were interrupted by a small, barely audible grunt, the sound being so quiet and so brief that he wasn't sure if he had simply imagined it. Almost not daring to hope, he returned his gaze to Nick's face, not looking away. It was almost another two minutes before a slight frown found its way to Nick's face and the hand Grissom held gave a small twitch, the action followed closely by a dream-woven murmur.

"_Grissom…?"_

The breath practically caught in his throat as he leaned closer, gripping Nick's hand a little tighter in his without even realizing it as he finally found his voice.

"That's it, I'm here. Common Nicky, common – you can do it, it's okay. You're safe now, all you gotta do is open your eyes." However, relief and anticipation quickly turned to worry when Nick's frown deepened, beads of sweat gathering on his brow as his breathing and heart rate increased. He felt his hand begin to shake in his grip and he looked anxiously from it back to Nick's face as a single word escaped the weak man's lips, so quietly that Grissom had to strain to hear it over the fast beeps of the heart monitor.

"_No_…"

* * *

_The attic was dark, and quieter than it had been all morning, the empty space around his position on the floor seeming to act as a vacuum on sounds that should have been clear, sounds like his harsh breathing and the hammering of his heart against his ribcage. He didn't know where they had put Greg's body, only that they had removed it from their cell around twenty minutes ago – or was it thirty? Wait, hadn't they just left? He couldn't remember; the numbness that his mind had taken to after Greg's death had made quite certain that his conception of time was shot – making it so that he had no idea how long he had been sitting there when he suddenly felt as though he were not alone._

_He tried but failed to force himself into a sitting position to get a look at whoever was there with him, his eyes scouring the impenetrable darkness fruitlessly. He felt as though he should be afraid, but for some reason he felt no fear, but a strange comfort in the unknown presence._

_That was when he heard it, a voice that he was glad but horrified to hear all at once, its owner being a man that he had thought to be standing outside this place, behind the safety of the police cars. _

"_Nick…" His heart sunk – the voice was Grissom's. He didn't even need to ask what he was doing there; there would only be one explanation for how he could have possibly ended up in there: he had attempted to make the same deal he had tried at the beginning, trading himself for Greg and Nick, and Forman had gone back on his word to let them go and had simply taken Grissom as well. Nick shook his head angrily, at the same time fighting down his newfound guilt – his mentor was probably going to die as well, and again it would be because of him._

_The man's voice had sounded as though he had already been hurt in some way or other and Nick wished now more than ever that he were able to tell where he was so that he could help him in any way possible. But, try as he might, he still couldn't see where the man was sitting – he hadn't even heard it when Forman had brought him in… How was that possible? Had he really been that out of it that he hadn't even taken notice of the addition of another captive to the room, much less his friend and boss?_

"_Grissom?" His voice hardly traveled, and for a while no response came, causing the bile to rise up in his throat – was he hurt that badly that he no longer had the strength to speak? If it were at all possible, his heart sped up even more, his breathing following as he forced his arms to start dragging his seemingly useless body across the floor. He had to find him… he had to help him… he couldn't let him die like he had Greg… But the more he searched, the more he lost hope. He wasn't even aware that he was muttering desperately to himself._

_"No…no…no…"_

* * *

Grissom was shaking him by the shoulders now as hard as he dared, which wasn't too hard considering Nick's condition, trying desperately to wake him from a nightmare that was beginning to take its toll on his still not recovering body. The CSI was shaking all over, a sheen of sweat developing on his forehead, no doubt from the breaths that blood loss, exhaustion, and injury had made ragged, always muttering the same thing: 'no'. He had no idea what was going on in his mind, but he did know that Nick would be better off awake than in whatever scenario he was facing that was causing him to react this way. 

"Nick!" he whispered harshly. He gripped one hand tightly in his own and shook him again with the other. "Nick! Wake up! Now!" With his heart rate still soaring and his breathing getting more difficult, Grissom was just about to press the call button by the bedside when a quiet voice brought his gaze back away from it.

"Griss?" He whipped his head back around and found that Nick's eyes had opened a sliver and he was peering up at him. Though they were just barely visible, Grissom could see written all over them fear, disbelief, and pain. Maybe he should press the call button anyway…?

He swallowed hard and gripped Nick's hand with both of his now.

"Yeah, I'm here Nick, I'm here," he said, as soothingly as possible. However, it didn't have the desired effect on his friend. Instead, he looked even more afraid, and sadness was creeping in, this leaving Grissom feeling all the more confused and helpless.

Nick stared up at his boss, figuring that he must've passed out in his search of the attic, allowing Gil to find him first. He breathed as deep as he could so as to be able to continue the conversation, even though he wasn't able to make his voice come out any louder than a quiet rasp.

"When did you get here?" he asked, wanting to know how long he had been lying there.

"About five minutes ago," came the quiet answer. Nick's brow furrowed as he studied Grissom's expression; he did see pain written in his features, but also exhaustion, and odd enough, intense worry. He blinked slowly, trying to work up the courage to hear the answer to his next question.

"Are you okay?" His expression turned confused when Grissom laughed briefly.

"Am I okay? Nicky, I really don't think you have to worry about me," he answered with a small laugh and a shake of his head. He couldn't believe Nick was asking _him_ that when _he_ was the one sprawled in a hospital bed, not the other way around. His slight smile disappeared however at the weak determination he saw in Nick's still mostly closed eyes. It was his friend's next question that made his jaw drop.

"Where's Forman? Where did he put Greg's body?" he asked desperately, wanting to know if his friend would at least be able to be recovered for a proper burial once this was over.

Grissom stared at him for a long moment, trying to process what he had just heard: Nick not only thought that he was still a hostage and that Grissom had joined him, but he also thought that Greg had died. Finally closing his mouth, he looked at him curiously, choosing his words carefully.

"Nick, do you know where you are?" At those words, Nick forced his eyes all the way open and forced them to focus on his surroundings, though the dim lighting made it hard to make out any details. At last his gaze dropped to his bed and his eyes widened and moved gradually to his bandaged and needle covered arm then up to his heart monitor before settling back on Grissom who was looking at him expectantly.

"Am I in a hospital?" he rasped, his words laced with hope and disbelief. Grissom's eyes stung at the tone as he smiled and nodded. Nick looked away for a moment, trying to decipher what was nightmare and what was reality before looking back over at his boss, his next question even quieter and ringing with fear. "Is Greg dead?" Grissom couldn't keep a few of his tears from falling – he never would've thought it possible for him to cry so much in one day – as he slowly shook his head.

"No Nick," he whispered. "Greg is alive – you saved him." Nick felt relief wash over him, and he went to sit up to hug the man – but was stopped abruptly as a searing pain assaulted his left side, making his body instinctively curl as he cried out in pain. He could feel Grissom's hands on his shoulders, helping him to lay back down as the searing subsided into a constant throb.

Then suddenly, without warning, all of the memories came rushing back into his mind while he stared wide-eyed down at his blankets: the shoot out – the bullet piercing his side – the bomb – Greg leaving – his feet leaving the stairs as he flew through the air – waking up on the ground with the team looking down at him with such sadness on their faces – the pain dissipating with his breaths – unable to keep his eyes from closing…

Grissom could tell by the look on Nick's face that he was slowly remembering the events that had led to his current position and when the young man looked up at him again, he had tears in his eyes but a weak smile on his face.

"Greg's alright?" he asked. Again Grissom nodded, smiling without a word as he watched Nick's eyes close as he breathed deep in relief. He gripped Nick's hand tighter and in his mind, thanked God and everything good and descent in this world and the next that both of his guys had made it out of this one – if for nothing else but for the other's sake.

* * *

Like he did every time he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, Warrick looked up from the magazine that he was pretending to read – his attempt at looking calm, cool, and collected – this time seeing that it was Catherine, returning from having her broken finger set, accompanied by a young brunette who was decked out in a paramedic's uniform and windbreaker. His curiosity mounted as the two women neared and he could hear them discussing Nick's condition in low voices. 

Setting down his magazine, he studied the woman's face; he wasn't sure, having been obviously distracted the last time he'd seen her, but he thought that she was the paramedic who had… when Nick had…

He shook his head in frustration at the fact that even his thoughts seemed to fear even hinting towards Nick's death. He returned his gaze to the pair as they came to stand in front of him.

"Warrick, this is Sheryl. Sheryl, this is Warrick Brown, also with the CSI department," Catherine introduced, stepping back so as to allow them space for a polite handshake. Warrick nodded his head.

"You were the one who – helped, Nick," he said, slightly haltingly at which she in turn nodded.

"I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances," she said solemnly as the handshake ended. He gave a grim half-smile.

"Yeah, me too." The three of them sat down as Catherine spoke.

"We just came from Greg's room. He was awake and coherent enough to give Brass a statement and to ask about Nicky," she said, blowing lightly on her steaming coffee refill but not drinking it as her gaze shifted to the floor in front of them. "I just wish we'd had better news to tell him." Warrick nodded in agreement, not relishing the rather frightening image of an unconscious, pale, fragile looking Nick that had been burned into his mind since he had left his friend's room.

There was a tense silence before Catherine finally sighed in a mixture of frustration and sadness.

"Greg didn't say anything about it, but you could see that he's blaming himself about how Nick ended up," she whispered, setting down her cup on the small table in front of them to keep her slightly shaking hands from dropping it. Ignoring their shakes, she rubbed her face before dropping them to her lap. Sheryl spoke just as quietly.

"It seemed to help him, knowing that Nick was at least stable," she said in a cautious tone, edginess causing a slight furrow on her brow. At this Catherine let loose a long, deep sigh, responding to no one in particular.

"I just wish that Nick would wake up so that he could talk to Greg himself."

As if waiting for this cue, the door to Nick's room suddenly opened and all three looked up to see Grissom standing part of the way out, his eyes slightly red from drying tears, and his face flushed as he spoke to them calmly.

"Could one of you please get the doctor?" The request coupled with Grissom's distraught appearance sent Catherine into instant panic which she fought to contain, as well as confusion as to how he could sound so calm if something was wrong as she jumped up from her seat.

"Gil, what's wrong? Did something happen? Is Nick alright? Why do you need a doctor?" she demanded frantically in quick succession, already edging towards the nurses station. Seeing her obviously frightened reaction, Grissom rushed towards her and took her gently by the shoulders, forcing her to calm down enough to look him in the eyes.

"It's okay Cath, Nick's okay – nothing's wrong." Her confusion grew and her eyes darted from Nick's door to the face of the senior CSI in front of her.

"Then – then why do you need a doctor?" All three became confused when he smiled for a moment, that confusion turning to shock, then relief, then joy at the next words that came quietly from his mouth.

"Nick's awake."

* * *

It was close to nine at night before Greg was finally wheeled in his wheelchair through the door into Nick's dimly lit room, Sara bringing him to a stop at Nick's side before she knelt down beside him, watching his expression carefully. His eyes swam with guilt as he stared silently at his friend's sleeping face, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching in an attempt to keep from reacting too strongly to a certainly unnerving sight. When she gently placed a gentle hand on his arm, he turned to look at her, not bothering to mask the same turmoil of emotions that she had found him battling with when she had first seen him in his own room. 

"I'm not sure whether or not anything I say can change how you feel about what happened today," she whispered, careful not to wake Nick as she spoke. "But what I do know is that no matter what you think, Nick does not blame you; he doesn't hold any of this against you – and neither do we." She paused, placing a hand on the side of Greg's face over which he placed his own, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth though his eyes remained locked with hers, his expression never changing. She smiled falteringly. "Talk to him; listen to him. You need to let go." And with that, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before standing and walking quietly from the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Greg watched her go, mulling over what she had said, and so absorbed in his conflicting thoughts that the wispy and pained voice beside him made him jump slightly in his seat.

"She's right you know." He returned his gaze to Nick who was now looking at him carefully through half-open eyes that, though tired, never faltered as he stared over at him. Greg tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat as he struggled to keep his response steady.

"About which part?" he asked, clearly avoiding what he was suppose to be discussing.

"All of it."

Greg swallowed again, squeezing his eyes shut and looking away. It was _his _fault; Nick was like this because of _him_ – _he_ made all the wrong choices, left him alone when he should have stayed, stayed still when he should have fought, laid there, allowing that bullet to tear up Nick's arm when he should have been searching around right there with him; he –

"It's not your fault." Nick's words pierced through his thoughts like an arrow and he finally opened his eyes and looked at him, his answer barely a whisper in his struggle to maintain control.

"How can you say that?" Nick's eyes hardened in response to that, his voice becoming firm through its wispiness.

"Did you aim a gun at me and pull the trigger?" Greg shook his head at him.

"No, but – " Nick cut him off.

"Did you hit me?"

"Obviously Forman did, but I – "

"Kick me?" Frustration was starting to well inside Greg's chest.

"No." The firmness in Nick's voice was beginning to wan.

"Set off a bomb with the intention of killing me?" Greg could hardly contain his emotions any more, and he balled his fists as he responded.

"No." Nick's eyes softened.

"Then that covers everything – you had nothing to do with what happened to me in that house Gre– " Unable to hold it in any longer, Greg cut Nick off.

"But I did nothing to stop it either!" he yelled, his eyes finally tearing as his protective damn began to crack. The effort of yelling resulted in yet another painful stab in his side and he doubled up in the wheelchair with a gasp, vaguely feeling Nick's hand on his shoulder.

Nick carefully placed a comforting hand on Greg's shoulder, blinking in surprise at the outburst but also flinching at the words he had just heard. He hadn't anticipated that way of thinking to come from his young friend, knowing as well as he did that in the state he had been in, Greg could have done nothing to stop Forman's actions.

Greg was still breathing heavily in his curled position, though the immediate pain had passed. He hadn't meant to yell like he had – it was the last thing that Nick needed on top of everything else. However, he had no answer ready for the next question that reached his ears.

"And what could you have done?" When Greg finally looked up at him, he knew that his expression matched his own. His grip tightened on Greg's shoulder, his voice cracking as he pushed further. "What could you have done to protect me when I couldn't even protect you?" Greg's red-rimmed eyes stared at him, the look in them saying how desperately he wanted to agree with him on the matter. Nick met his gaze head on. "It wasn't your fault." After a moment, he leaned forward in his bed and pulled Greg into a hug, not a second before his vision blurred with tears that began to fall as Greg returned the hug ten-fold. Nick was unprepared for what Greg said with equal conviction as had been in his voice.

"Nick, it wasn't your fault either."

A great many tears were shed as the two friends finally let it all out, beginning the long process of moving on, knowing full well that the others would be there for them through it all, as well as they for each other.

_We're going to make it out of this – I promise._

* * *

As the doctor had originally stated, Nick was transferred to the general ward early the next morning, though everyone had been ordered by Grissom to go home at around four that morning, four hours before the transfer, to shower, eat, and try to get some rest before coming back that afternoon. But, as could only be expected, none out of the three obeyed the last part and by ten that morning, Catherine, Sara, and Warrick were pulling up in a parking space in Warrick's car, the other two having taken him up on his offered ride. 

It was about another ten minutes before they reached Nick's room on the third floor, each filing in quietly through the door after which Catherine took the seat on the other side of his bed, across from the seat that Grissom already occupied, while the others stood around it. For a long moment, they simply sat and stared at the mass of bruises and bandages that covered their friend, then Grissom broke the silence.

"He's been asleep for a little while," Grissom whispered, not bothering to bring up the fact that none of them should have returned for at least another five hours. "Doctor gave him something for the pain." Catherine nodded silently while Warrick spoke up quietly from his place standing beside Catherine.

"I hope he gave him enough; a day like yesterday would leave any guy damn sore, to say the least."

"Amen to that," a voice from the doorway rasped, making them all turn to see Greg propelling his wheelchair forward into the room. Though startled to see him in a wheelchair, they smiled broadly in response to him already technically being up and around.

Right away he wheeled over to where Sara had sat on the edge of Nick's bed where she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek and hug him, gently of course. Their audience tried to hide their surprise at the sudden shift in relationship status while he smiled with a quiet chuckle. "Sorry it took me so long to get here, but the doc says that I shouldn't, and won't even have the energy to be 'exerting' myself for at least a few days. Besides, even with these pyjama bottoms underneath, these gowns are pretty drafty," he said with a slight grimace that brought a smile to everyone's face. "Anyways, it took me forever to drag myself out of bed and to a wheelchair with a blanket, then another ten minutes to charm the nurse doing rounds into telling me what room Nick was in and to let me come see him."

"Fifty bucks says I could've pulled it off in five." The quiet, tired voice drew their attention back to the bed as Nick slowly opened his eyes and smiled lightly at Greg. Grissom moved out of the way so that Greg could park his wheelchair at the head of Nick's bed, returning the smile enthusiastically.

"No need to try my friend, 'cause it seems to me that you've already caught someone else's attention – a paramedic's no less." This got him a confused look and it occurred to him that the only times Nick had met the woman in question had been when he was unconscious or dead. "Well, you haven't technically met her yet but she – she's the one who brought you back after you – well, when you – yeah." He shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair and his friend briefly looked away. Greg had a feeling that that topic wouldn't be a comfortable onefor any of them for quite some time. He shook his head briefly, deciding to continue with what he had been talking about before. "Anyways, she's been checking up on you pretty steady since you left the ICU, whenever she's not on a run. I actually passed her at the coffee machine on my way in and, um, _overheard_ her talking about you to her friend." Greg was relieved to see Nick's expression go from grim and uncomfortable to interested and thoughtful for a moment before he looked back at Greg.

"Is she pretty?" Greg looked over at Sara and pointed to the different features as he went.

"Make her hair wavy, add stud earrings, and make her eyes blue and a _little_ bit bigger." Nick looked at Sara, raised his eyebrows, and grinned weakly.

"Sounds like I hit it lucky!" Sara blushed slightly at the indirect compliment and Nick's grin broadened as he returned his gaze to Greg. "Did you find out anything about her?" Greg nodded, smiling. "Do you have time to answer a few questions?" He thought for a moment before looking back at Nick, the room's occupants able to see that his expression and body language were more relaxed and, well, more like Greg than they had been in two days because of the arrival of the much needed opportunity for normalcy.

Again he smiled, one that spread across his entire face.

"I've got about twenty minutes before the nurse shift change when I have to sneak back to my room – fire away."

THE END

* * *

**A/N:** tadda! there you have it, the last of the story! as i said earlier, i really hope you liked it - don't forget to review and bring in the final verdict:) 


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